Nolens Volens
by Wivern
Summary: Fifth year brings revelations and surprises for both sides. It’s when very important experiences take place and lifealtering decisions are made. Spoilers OOTP and OCs.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

The night was imposing and deafening, demanding nothing more than unconsciousness and obedience. It wasn't a night that made love encounters possible, and it didn't protect those who wanted to do harm. There were scarce stars on the sky and the moon was clear, round and aristocratic like the eye of a great and benevolent god or goddess. The wind was surprisingly unsteady and unpredictable, waiting to catch anyone unaware and make them pay for it.

The whispers that came from the trees – and everything alive, dead and undead that could make itself heard with tiny chilling whines of what was, is and would never be – surrounded manors and engulfed houses. It was daring, the way the nightlife struggled to make itself noticed and yet remained unnoticed, but some appreciated what only shadows and dim lights could provide. This kind was just like the elements they used to their advantage: ruthless, untrustworthy and selfish. They had ambition, determination and a record of victories that defied decency and logic.

And what they possessed was easily identified.

The walls were ice cold, the doors heavy and the whole manor smelled like old parchment and dry blood mingled with salty tears. History is everything, and that manor most certainly proved that. From the doorknobs made of bones – he had heard many things but never the truth, so he decided it was indeed hellhound's bones – to the painting frames that were made of gold and silver – depending mostly on who graced and lived eternally inside the enchanted canvas.

He was a part of this history and because of it he knew every inch of that property as he knew intimately the very pattern of the letters that composed his name. Just like he knew every book inside the library – especially the ones he should have never found.

But obviously he knew some rooms better than others, so much so that he was sure that he could find them even blindfolded and if they really moved magically inside the house - there was a very interesting and everlasting rumour that you could get in a room inside that manor and never find your way out of it again. A rumour that naturally no one had ever bothered to confirm or deny, and he didn't also.

The library would be one of the rooms he would find easily enough, since he did spend most of his times there anyway and he had become one with the armchair that had been placed there one day when he was 8 – he had never bothered to ask whose doing that was and no one had ever bothered to tell him.

The other was quite naturally his bedroom.

He did spend a lot of time in his room but then again time had always been relative for him. He had never been the kind of child that made faces at 'bath or bed times', he had never been the type of adolescent that had a problem with rising early when needed and he was far from being a sloppy young man. He had his freedom as long as he did what he had to do and since he quite enjoyed his doings and deeds for most of the time, he had little trouble living his life the way he wanted it to be lived.

In that abhorring and unsettlingly calm night his bedroom was dark and warm. The walls reflected the way the wind and the moonlight made the shadows dance around the huge mahogany bed.

It was a four-post bed. The headboard bore carvings that told of great power, history and legacy. The wood was strong, black and intimidating. The blankets were wide, reached the floor; creating a beautiful yet shuddering contrast with the impeccable white of the sheets and pillows.

Nothing seemed to have moved during the night.

Nothing seemed to move during the day.

The room in itself was just like the rest of the manor: incredible, astonishing and beautifully gloomy. The stone-floor shone ethereally with the amount of light that refused to bow to any barrier, let alone one so useless as an absurdly clean glass window. As it happened, everything looked bare to inspection, anyone who dared to look inside that window would see all of his books, his study, the open door that led to his private bathroom, his nightstand, his broom and his robe. Each item neatly and carefully kept where it belonged, where it had always belonged.

But obviously not everything could be seen, particularly in such a family, with such a boy, and yet – with everyone at all. Still, he wasn't everyone and nor would be his _masks_ like anyone else's. Where the silver streak of light couldn't reach, there were riches no one could see, not if they simply looked from outside.

Treasures he didn't show anyone nor did he ever really mention them. Only a few knew of their existence and even fewer knew where he actually, truly, consciously or not, kept them.

Safe would be the name anyone could use to define his behaviour, his tendency to secrecy and deceit. Others though, would call it cunning, cowardice and maybe even insecurity.

He settled for all of the above, ones more than others. Say what you say; it was better than reckless stupidity. He should know.

He knew it better than most in fact.

He hated it and one can only truly hate what he truly knows.

It was his controlled intelligence that made even his slumber motionless, restful and ever vigilant. That was what made him lay down with one arm stretched at his side, his legs slightly parted, the back of his head on the middle of one of his many goose-feather filled pillows and his other arm bent at the elbow. His left hand was under his pillow, his wrist under the back of his neck.

His fingers were forming a tight fist that made his knuckles white, around the only object he couldn't part himself from since he was 11 years old. Right above his fisted hand and his head was what he only thought of as 'it'. 'It' looked like a book but 'it' wasn't a book. 'It' also looked like a notebook but the idea was simply ludicrous and on the overall 'it' wasn't a notebook. 'It'looked ancient, like most things he was used to, and therefore powerful, something he regarded deeply. The pieces of parchment that served as pages were yellow, not golden but sicken. The colour of secrets: deep, hidden and unforgivable secrets.

He was a person who loved secrets. In reality if asked, he'd say he was one who loved knowledge, especially the type of knowledge he wasn't supposed to know in the first place. The kind that he could use later, the kind that brought him profit, power, more knowledge or in the least, leverage in a bargain. And those were so difficult to find these days, good secrets, that is. He was good at finding them out and even better at keeping them but good secrets, deep, hidden and unforgivable secrets, those were hard to find and lately too easy to discover.

He had learned that the best way to keep people completely away from your secrets is exposing them. _No one believes the truth if a liar tells it_. It was a family heirloom, just as much as everything else that came with the name and the blood that reigned in his veins. Lies, deceit, secrets and everything else were a mere scapegoat of something bigger, stronger and older.

He wasn't and would never be made by his name but he did live by it. Most didn't understand, nor should they. They weren't them, him and us. And everything in between.

They, the others, would never know simply because they could never comprehend it fully. _Stupid, clueless imbeciles_. Waste of time, waste of energy, waste of magic. He tried, with all his might, he forced himself to discard them as the idiotic rotten existence they were, unworthy of any of his thoughts and anger. He tried so hard.

Not good enough.

Yet.

This time it'd be different. This year everything would change. He had found 'it', he was ready and there was only one way to go from now on. And he knew it, he could feel it, sense it, almost touch it. His, on his own merit, ever so deserving and all the more important.

It has come, it would happen.

This year, tomorrow and every day after that. All he had to do was open his eyes and reach for it.

Everything he had ever wanted, more than anyone could ever imagine and not at all what people conceived him to lust after.

Patience, all in good time.

Fifteen years of wait.

He was ready.

The wind outside blew stronger this time; the shadows danced a pace tad faster for a second before settling down to a slow and monotonous waltz again.

His eyes didn't move under his eyelids, his mouth didn't twitch and his chest kept its dangerously lazy rhythm. But his hand had moved and his wand had dug in the soft flesh of his palm.

In that night, imposing and deafening, he didn't dream but he had and he would.

Lulled by the murmuring of the night and the promise of the days to come, Draco Malfoy slept.

* * *

28tht of August

I found _it_ - or _it_ found me I do not know for sure and it does not matter now. I am ready for what awaits me from now on. I can feel it in my very core.

My things are set and ready, I soon will have to go and leave but I needed to start this journal before going down. It would be impossible and absolutely inadvisable to write anything inside the carriage and after that I will have even less of an opportunity to do this.

_It_ is inside my coat's pocket and once I put on my robes _it_ will be completely concealed. I will tell of _it _to no one, I have shown _it_ to no one and I intend to keep it that way.

Father and Mother know I have found_ it _and that is all they will know.

I could not sleep last night, for most time. Every time I tried to rest I felt the urge to open _it_, read _it_ or simply hold _it_. The only time I could indeed close my eyes without the fear of losing _it_ somehow was when I placed _it_ under my pillow, just above my head and at hand's reach. It was as if _it_ lulled me to sleep.

Not _it_ per se, obviously, but the certainty of _its_ nearness and the fact that in that position no one could take _it_ away from me without waking me up instantly.

I noticed this need of assurance as soon as I touched _it_ but I am sure it is more than natural.

Father said I would only open _it_ - and be able to read _it_ – at school. I do not mind, I have been patient so far. I have learned to appreciate things more this way and soon the expectation will be over so I can move on to other subjects.

This summer I only kept contact with _her_. I did receive letters from the others but I did not bother to respond. It is enough that I have to spend most of my seven years in that school with them around and next to me, I do not have to endure such a thing during my vacations.

She said she was enjoying her stay at her grandparent's – her mother's sake naturally. I will never know what she finds so endearing in such a despicable and ridiculed land so I have given up trying to figure her out when it comes to things like that.

She promised me a great surprise at school and I will not even try to figure out what it is for she always surprises me, no matter how far my imagination takes me. One of the reasons why I– would like to see her again.

I did not tell her anything but I also have something for her. She does appreciate surprises but the reason why I did not say a word was because I do not want her to figure it out before even seeing the package.

She will be back next week and that means we will only see each other at Hogsmeade. Until then we will keep our correspondence, as it is, long and unending. That will soon stop when the classes start.

Mother said that she would accompany me alone for Father will have to travel for business. I do not really mind this change of pace and I am after all used to his absences. We all are. She also wants me to see Grandfather and Grandmother.

As I sit here I try to prepare myself for all the pampering I shall get from my Grandparents – from my Mother's side. There will be the usual presents, compliments, and abominable physical demonstration of – affection. I am already used to such a thing from them, they are after all – it does not matter.

_Blekage_ just arrived with something from my Grandfather Synphus – Father's father. It is the little "encouragement" he had assured me he would send me this year. Apparently he does not have good memories of his fifth-year back at Durmstrang and decided I need the wand he had promised me.

Untraceable, unregistered and absolutely illegal.

I suppose this year will be indeed promising and glorious, just as it should.

I believe that I will only be able to write again once I am back at Hogwarts.

As for now, I shall leave.

_**D. M.**_


	2. Chapter One

_This is dedicated to **SnapesFavorite** for all the support and love. _

Alsothis chapter contains chapter contains lines copied directly from OOTP.

* * *

**Disclaimer:** Everything that has already been created isn't mine and I'm just having fun with it. The rest was made up and is very much mine. 

**Summarise:** Fifth year brings revelations and surprises for both sides. It's when very important experiences take place and life-altering decisions are made.

* * *

**Chapter One**

"_I have immortal longings in me"_

-- William Shakespeare, Antony and Cleopatra

The pale morning was slow to come, but nonetheless it dictated the pace for that first day of September. Outside everything seemed somewhat on hiatus, waiting for something vibrant to happen and infuse more colour and movement to life itself. The weather was blissfully bearable, a drastic contrast to the warmth and stuffiness that had plagued everyone for two whole months.

It was that same dull clarity that bathed everything.

The white and unflattering light covered every inch of stone, wood and concrete. Every single object and furniture inside that room seemed to be covered by a thin but insisting grey veil. The dark green velvet armchair at the corner, next to the window, had lost its lustrous. His nightstand didn't have its usual impeccable surface and his study, that covered most of his wall – and was the first thing a visitor encountered as soon as they entered his bedroom – had always caught attention for its size and organised surface but under that light, it looked only out of place.

The books had always looked luminous and impressive, great works from incredible authors, but his shelf now seemed to be filled with old and deprecatingly ordinary volumes. The bed was still huge and impressive but that day it simply seemed a tad too much.

Clearly such impressions were far from true but none was more misleading than the vision that rested gracefully on the absurdly comfortable and expensive mattress, surrounded by equally inviting pillows and under deliciously soft sheets and blanket.

He hadn't moved at all, and that meant that he was still on his back, his legs slightly parted and his head neatly placed over one pillow. At that position he looked enchanted and therefore enchanting. His face was sharp everywhere but still held delicateness, making almost impossible to be sure of his gender. What gave him away was the light stubble that insisted on gracing his chin every morning.

His torso could be inspected too, for it was bare, and his dark pyjama pants were under his dark green blanket. He was clearly lithe but well built; concealed by clothes and robes his body gave people the wrong idea of an unhealthy thinness and a weakling figure.

His skin was pale, unnaturally so, but it bode well with his white blonde hair and unpredictable grey eyes. Lied there, looking ever so like the marble statue of a Greek god, Draco Malfoy was naïve, innocent and harmless.

He was without a doubt the only beautiful thing the sunlight touched in that morning and couldn't spoil.

Draco stood straight and proud, taking care of the buttons of his black dress shirt as if his very sanity and destiny depended on all of them being quietly and successfully encased. It was a job that most people overlooked but it made part of his personality to simply ignore everyone else and their doing.

It wasn't that he took an awful long time to get dressed – especially if you take in consideration that his mother spent a minimal of 2 hours getting ready and his father usually wasted 1 with his toilette every morning. Draco was proud to say that his 45 minutes of pure vanity made him the fastest and most capable Malfoy in that manor, at least it did when it came to getting dressed.

That also meant he didn't have much to work on or enhance because he was simply dashing on his own. He could follow a humble note but that wasn't a trade ever found in his bloodline. It was just absurd to expect anything but superiority and criticism from a Malfoy, and growing up under such a severe code made Draco an exception for a 15 years old lad.

He had everything a boy that age wasn't supposed to have – or allowed to, depending of the specimen in question – and that meant; style, poise, confidence and an imperturbable self-esteem.

He was tall, not impressively so, but still he was considerably tall. His shoulders were already broad, his legs long, his arms too and even his hands and fingers were bony and had a length that was as unnatural as it was common on young men who were still going through periodical growth spurts.

And yet, any possible uncomfortable-ness or klutziness that came with this moment of life had no part in his cool gait and firm stance. Draco was elegant, that was for sure. He knew how to dress, knew what flattered him and was acutely aware of the couple of features that weren't as impeccable as the others. And until that moment he was doing a pretty good job – bettering/hiding them – because no one did even suspect their existence.

Once he was done with the shirt he hooked his thumbs inside his trousers waistline, right under his black leather belt, and pulled it ever so lightly. His grey eyes, that had adopted a slight greenish light as they always did whenever he was doing something important and that required his full attention, ran over his reflection. He wanted to make sure that the wizard that had tailored his clothes hadn't messed up and the hem of his pants were indeed long enough to _almost_ touch the floor and that they were successfully enchanted to _never_ get dirty.

One thing is to fault for being sloppy (completely unforgivable in his book and deserving of the Crucio) but being absolutely perfect and then allow external factors ruin it all was so _muggle-like_ that deserved some considerable time at Azkaban.

When that inspection was done he turned to his hair, running his fingers through it and shaking his head lightly before combing his hair slowly and carefully. That summer his hair was slightly longer than it had been the year before, he was seriously thinking about letting it grow back and further than the hairdo he had as a child.

As it was, his hair was fashionably without a proper style – what meant that it had received a strategically studied cut for exact 4 hours, and he was glad to say that he had threatened the witch's life (if she even dared to ruin his magnificent hair) only every 5 minutes.

'You are absolutely fabulous!' he was suddenly awaken by the mirrors' gushy sigh. Draco stilled the movement of his hands and let his arms fall to his side.

He raised a solo and daring eyebrow. The mirror cleared its magic throat loudly.

'I mean... Absolutely sublime!'

Draco now crossed his arms and his eyebrow reached his hairline, his eyes narrowing ever so lightly.

'Without a doubt... Delicious?' the mirror tried again.

That shocked him to the core. He had been called many things by that and other mirrors – not to mention wizards, witches, house-elves, dwarfs and so on – but _delicious_ was most certainly a first. Not that it wasn't very close to the truth, but still it was impossibly beneath him.

He shook his head lightly and rolled his eyes, finally moving from the reflective surface's range. Slowly, as if nothing in the world could make him move any faster, Draco walked to his bed and got hold of the tiny necklace that lay there.

It had a silver band, long and thin, holding a pendant so small that many wouldn't be able to discern it. He simply let the band slide over his head and rest peacefully on his neck, one second later, the silver glow wasn't noticeable against his skin and the pendant had disappeared under his throat.

The next object he got in his hand had been magically shrunk and was attached to a chain. Draco pierced the fangs of a tiny locket made of silver in the shape of a wolf, with a ruby as its eye, into his belt. Then, he let the magically shrunk object dive quietly into the confines of his pocket.

At last, Draco hooked his forefinger on the collar of the black blazer his mother had gotten him that year. The rest of his new clothes and belongings were already inside his trunks, all of those waiting for him in his carriage.

Without another look, and sure that he couldn't have possible forgotten anything, he waltzed out of his bedroom.

* * *

It was a ritual. 

He wasn't one to follow routine, anything that bored him wasn't bound to last for long, but he did have a few habits about certain things.

One of them concerned the King's Cross Station and his impatient waiting at Platform 9 and ¾ for the Hogwarts Express. Since his first year, when he had arrived appallingly earlier than everyone else because his parents had early appointments to attend, Draco was – if the not the first – at least one of the first to arrive at the platform.

It hadn't taken him long to realise that what had felt like an unnaturally waste of his time and sleep, turned out to be very helpful. Draco wasn't very fond of being among a large number of people, at least not when these people weren't well selected. The arrival and amount of general bodies at the platform was historically impressive. All those mothers and fathers, and sometimes even other more distant relatives, brothers, sisters and not to mention the very student body didn't take long to crowd such an incredibly small place. It was loud, messy and all together a very uncomfortable experience.

Something that Draco couldn't understand was that dry need of reassurance that held everyone out of the express until the very last moment. He had been born with a very distinct talent: the one to recognise luxury. Clearly Hogwarts Express didn't offer much, all those carriages and compartments ridiculously close, those tiny corridors and the very movement of it didn't really give one the opportunity to actually have a good journey. Still, Draco was very much aware of the fact that even in such a precarious environment there were degrees of shabbiness.

For instance, the closer to the back of the Express the worst were the compartments. It was easy to see why really, those were the most used carriages, where children dropped themselves at as they rushed to get a place. What meant terribly bumpy seats.

On the other hand, the first two carriages that were allowed to students were the best – there were two others but one was reserved for teachers (even though no one had ever seen anyone from Hogwarts' staff there) and the other was obviously for the prefects. The seats were better – at least he thought so – and for being so far off the back and so close to the front, they also felt as unoccupied as the other two.

Besides being there meant that logistically he left and arrived first, which was his rightful place in the world anyway, specially compared to everyone else.

Usually too his parents left as soon as he was inside his compartment. Draco was silently grateful for that. Malfoys were not made for sentimental foolishness. In fact, he couldn't understand how all the other students could endure those endless rounds of pathetic affection circus.

Granted his mother wasn't as cold as she could actually be and she did indulge into a very incomprehensible need to abuse his personal space whenever he was about to leave to Hogwarts or when he came back home but nothing close to what most of the other mothers did. He knew that because he watched all of them, one of the privileges he had for getting there so early.

It was shocking what some of them were actually able to do, especially a certain plain red-head mother who apparently – Draco suspected – had came up with a mad plot to populate the world with an equally plain and ginger kettle.

He had grimaced at those disgusting wet kisses when he was 11, he had wrinkled his nose at those suffocating hugs when he was 12, scowled at those pathetic nicknames and loud reassurances at 13, mocked the cheek-pinching at 14 and now he couldn't wait to enjoy Weasel's public embarrassment.

And people said he was hard to please.

That year wasn't really different in that regard. He arrived and immediately went to the first compartments, only this time he didn't stop at his usual one; he kept going to the prefect's carriage.

Draco opened the door slowly, trying to memorise the way the sun crept inside the fifth-year's compartment. The way the seats looked remarkably and blessedly without use and he had no option but breathe in that delicious scent that closed interiors have when they haven't been used before or at least hadn't been used for long.

He walked quietly in; trying to savour that moment before all those loud hellions arrived. Soon Vincent and Gregory would be there too, and then there'd be Pansy and Blaise.

Pansy was also a prefect; he had received her overreacted letter, not that he was really surprised with that. Apparently neither was Blaise, even though he had sounded seriously bitter at the fact that Draco had been chosen, not him. Draco grinned when he remembered that "complete rubbish", "obviously undeserving" and "bloody suck-up" made part of Zabini's letter.

It wasn't Draco's fault that he was so much better than Zabini and if Blaise hadn't followed his advice on travestying, the other Slytherin's only chance at getting a badge. His grin broadened when he remembered that that had been his exact response to Blaise's dubious congratulations.

Draco could understand, though, Pansy's response to her nomination. She was the most good-looking Slytherin girl in his year, Parkinson was also one of the most unbelievably obnoxious and actively bitchy fifth-years, but she wasn't certainly the brightest bulb in the tree.

Even Millicent had better grades than she did and that was saying something. But Draco reckoned that if she kept her grades higher than Crabbe and Goyle's he could still be seen in public with her. She did talk an awful a lot but since it was mostly deprecating comments about everyone else and endless praises for him, he could tolerate her fairly.

Zabini was the second best when it came to grades in his house, obviously Draco was the first. He figured that not getting the prefect badge was just one more thing in Blaise's endless list of second best. He wasn't after all in the Quidditch team, something he had wanted to the point of being murderous and hadn't Draco just gotten in the team but he also was the Seeker.

Poor Blaise, he almost had an aneurysm that day.

But he had been there, every game rooting for his house, even though he was seething to see Draco flying like he owned the team. Which he obviously did.

It was one of the several things all those scumbags would never understand.

And they said Gryffindors are loyal.

Still smirking, he settled his things in a secluded area, making sure no one would be able to kick or touch anything whatsoever. Again he hadn't bothered to bring _Erebus'_s cage. His owl never appreciated confinement of any kind, which meant that he had had extra work to train it properly but that was good because now his Eagle Owl wasn't as dependent of him as most birds were of their owner.

Draco had never liked the idea of having someone completely dependent of him, and even the slight evidence of need irked him deeply. He was careful enough not to attach himself to anyone and he was no way close to appreciating the stupidity of anyone who attached themselves to him.

Once he was done, he took off his blazer and casually rested it on the space he had chosen for himself. Odds were that he wouldn't even spend the entire trip in that carriage but that didn't mean he didn't want his spot untouched in case he decided to stay there.

Draco liked options, especially when all of them suited him fine.

For one minute he allowed himself to stare out of the window. Fifth-year was a defining year. It was the beginning, the first chapter of the rest of his life. Not so much because it was his OWL year – even though that was indeed highly important – but mostly because of everything that was happening.

That summer had been a very busy summer for Lucius Malfoy and all that meant was that Draco had been incredibly busy trying to find out all that was truly going on and that his father was so fiercely trying to hide.

It was a game really, one that Draco had failed at many times before but that recently seemed to have finally gotten the hand of it. One can't delude Lucius Malfoy, he smelled lies and betrayals like a dog smells fear but he also was as patient and morbidly curious as a cat.

Growing up with that man as a role model had been tiring and demanding. Draco had yet to prove his capacity to match his father's challenges head on, but he had learned to work for what he wanted.

That was why he spent most of those 8 weeks sneaking inside his father's office, trying to read everything he could get his eyes on without being caught. Or at least without being so blatant obvious that his father would see fit to humiliate him for his lack of tact.

Draco was proud to say that it had only happened twice and for the past 3 weeks he knew he had been successful enough to earn his father's unreeling and scrutinising stare during meals. As if Lucius was trying to figure out if his son had simply quit his attempts all together, or if he was simply getting better enough at it to even fool another Malfoy.

Neither said a word; but then again little was actually discussed aloud inside the manor. The same way that rushed whispers about the Weasley girl, a diary, the Chamber of Secrets and his father were never mentioned. As neither were the true facts about Cedric Diggory's death, Fudge's growing paranoia about Dumbledore, Harry Potter's near expulsion from Hogwarts and his father's certain but untraceable connections with all these events.

Lucius Malfoy was a master in keeping things under wraps. He knew every possible method that could help him to get what he wanted, the way he wanted, and being a perfectionist made him an impressive allay or perhaps – _supporter_.

But that was only another one of the many things that weren't discussed inside the manor.

On the other hand, Draco's incapacity to win a match against Gryffindor, his incompetence when it came to beating a Mudblood at being the first of his year and his sheer failure at causing real damage to a boy who couldn't be more pathetic if he tried, were constantly commented.

He had gotten the prefect badge, surely, but the Head Boy badge would have to be seen. He was Slytherin's youngest Seeker in centuries but the greatest title had been taken, as had been every House Cup for the past four years.

He had much to accomplish and little time to waste but Draco had to have patience and he had none. He was impulsive, intense, reckless, ruthless and ambitious but he lacked the cunning and self-control.

Draco was aware of that default. It was the reason why he never beat Potter at Quidditch, it was why he always lost it when Granger's grade were higher than his no matter how hard he studied and it was why Weasel's mere presence made him stomp over him.

But it wasn't enough.

Potter was still the Boy Who Lived, despite several people's effort – and his best wishes -, Granger was still McGonagall's favourite – even bloody Snape had bleakly complimented the Mudblood once, trying to spur his best Slytherin out for blood (and higher grades) – and Weasley was still the boy he had been rejected over.

Oh yes, that never got old.

Draco Malfoy being rejected was one thing. Draco Malfoy being rejected over a Weasley, that was unforgettable and unforgivable. Not even every little degrading moment he had been direct or indirectly responsible for in Weasley's life in the past four years would be enough to erase that slap on his face. The redhead freak had even had the guts to mock his name, as if a plebeian name such as Ronald would ever match the righteousness and power of a true Dragon.

_The muggle-lover, blood traitor scum. _

He frowned fiercely, his hands closing tightly at his sides. He could still remember the loathe he felt when he woke up at the Platform only a couple of months before. It had taken him over one mouth to be fully recovered of all the hexes Potter and his friends had used on him, Crabbe and Goyle.

Apparently the Boy Who Lived wasn't very fond of the truth.

His upper lip curled instinctively as it always did at the mere thought of the boy. If asked, and he had been, Draco wouldn't be able to define – exactly – how much he actually despised Harry Potter.

He got to hate him even more than he had ever hated Weasel and that was saying something. The redhead freak inspired a disgust and dislike that had been harboured for years, generations and generations. But Potter, Potter was the first person Draco had willingly abhorred.

No history, no past or legacy, it was his doing and his doing alone. The fact that he had done so even against his father's will was impressive in its own accord. Lucius would never ask his son to beg someone's friendship or attention once he had been rejected but he had advised Draco about his decision of making Potter's life a living hell.

But that had been before and before Draco might not have an option.

He blinked once, feeling his eyes sting as he realised he hadn't done it in a while. He forcefully loosened his fists and unclenched his jaw.

It didn't take him a very long time to hear loud steps and soft grunts and he knew just who he'd see pushing their way inside the compartment. He didn't bother to turn around right away, enjoying the familiarity that the assurance of Crabbe and Goyle's bulky bodies at his back gave him. They made part of what Draco Malfoy represented at Hogwarts. And there he could not be king but he was closer than ever to the throne.

Vincent and Gregory kept him company all the time before the others arrived. He had gone with them to their usual compartment, launched over the seat as the others tossed their things about and talked to him in hushed hoarse tones.

Draco knew the idea everyone else had about the other two. They thought the two boys were his thugs or bodyguards, idiotic young men who followed his orders blindly and couldn't be more stupid if they tried.

Granted that they were far from being genial but they weren't retarded. They didn't ask many questions but solemnly because they knew that Draco always had a plan and that meant they wouldn't be caught, or at least, that there wouldn't be a very serious punishment.

He did use them but it was a silent agreement between them since they were kids. And if Vincent and Gregory were capable of setting a silent agreement at the age of 4 with Draco Malfoy, then they most certainly weren't as imbecilic as people thought. They weren't academically brilliant but then again that was why they weren't at Ravenclaw, which essentially was a very good thing.

Draco couldn't help but smirk when Goyle pushed Crabbe by the shoulder in an attempt to get the other boy to scoop a bit to the side. He had never seen those two fighting, of course they weren't perfect angels to each other, but they had never quarrelled. They did take pleasure in physical activities such as punching, shoving and other "_manly_" nonsense but they had never truly fought.

They didn't talk much also, which had always suited him fine, and listened without interrupting – one of their best trades in his opinion. But that didn't mean they didn't _know_ how to talk or that they didn'tthink on a regular basis. It only so happened that they didn't bother to do it in public or acknowledge it to an audience.

That was another thing Draco really liked in those two.

'Look at what we've got here... The albino and his gargoyles...'

And that was one of the many things he didn't like in Blaise Zabini.

The young black man was flaunted and with his arms crossed, his shoulder supporting his weight as he put one of his ankles over the other. Draco noticed the boy's grin and the way his honeyed eyes shone with mirth and mischief. It was a giving thing; Blaise adored getting under his skin. Of course their rivalry had nothing to do with the animosity he shared with Potter but their friendship – if it could be called that – wasn't fluid at all.

Not that either of them was bothered by it. Draco needed someone to compete with, knowing that he could win, a fair competition even if they played dirty. Something different of the unfairness of his competition with Potter where everything was unbalanced and the scores were set before he even started to play.

Zabini was well aware of that and rubbed it in constantly, all the while offering Draco enough challenge to keep his wounded ego slightly in check.

It had been that way since they were kids. If Draco got a new broomstick, Blaise had to have it too. If Malfoy got and "O" at Potions, Zabini had to get one too. If the blonde boy got snogged silly by a seventh-year at the mere age of 12, it was his duty to do the same.

Draco appreciated Blaise's efforts – especially because he tried so hard and never succeeded – but it did get on his nerves at times. That was why he kept his distance when it came to Zabini and therefore so did Crabbe and Goyle. Blaise was a Slytherin, one of his but he was still Blaise and he was still a Slytherin.

'What a completely unpleasant surprise...'

Blaise showed every single one of his perfect white teeth, the contrast against his ebony skin and eyes was unsettling – breathtaking but unsettling.

'Why, Draco...' he pushed himself from his position 'One might actually think you didn't miss me...'

Crabbe and Goyle kept their position, forming a muscled physical barrier between both boys. Zabini was none the wiser and got in the compartment slowly and nonchalantly, not quite gracefully but not at all awkwardly.

'And one would be actually right...'

The black boy chuckled in acknowledgement as he put his things out of the way. Vincent and Gregory were absorbed in their Chocolate Frog Cards, not bothering to give Zabini any kind of attention. That always was left up to Draco anyway.

'I missed you too, Malfoy...' Blaise replied coolly.

'I bet you did, Zabini...'

'Tell me, Draco...' the boy continued ignoring Draco's sarcasm 'How was your summer?'

Draco was still staring out the window, his feet crossed and their heels over the seat in front of him. His hands were deep inside his pockets, his fingers flicking over the chain in his left pocket and the prefect badge in his right.

He hadn't moved since he sat there and was waiting until he felt motivated to finally move. Until that moment that motivation hadn't arrived, and it would most certainly not be Zabini or the high-pitched complaints he was hearing coming from the end of corridor.

'My summer was none of your business, Blaise...' he answered lightly and finally looked at the other boy, with a very annoying smirk on his face 'As usual...'

Zabini didn't have the opportunity to respond because in that moment Pansy Parkinson arrived. Now, Pansy was really one of a kind. Not exactly loud but most certainly not quiet, she did have a lot of grace when she set herself to but could be absurdly crude when she desired.

Draco wouldn't really know how he ever came to getting closer to her. Closer than a snog session and the pleasure of bullying others could bring them, that is. She most certainly wouldn't be his confidant at any rate but she was a decent company whenever he had the patience to spare with her.

'Can you believe that Ernie Macmillan is a prefect too?'

'I'm fabulous, Pansy darling... You?'

'Not to mention Hannah Abbot, who couldn't find her chin if she really looked for it. Did you see who's Ravenclaw's chosen? Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil! Goldstein is a complete idiot and Patil's ears are taking one compartment each.'

Draco grinned as the pale girl ignored Zabini's interruption. It was hard to get Parkinson to stop whenever she was driven. Her hair was pitch-black, a severe contrast to her marble skin and foggy blue eyes. She still had the short cut she had used the year before and Draco knew that was so because he had complimented her hair-do once, during a late night at the dungeons while he could have told anyone anything thanks to the firewhiskey Maddock had stolen from one of his uncle's stash.

'Does anyone really expect me to interact with them? And I'm not even talking about the _Golden Couple_! There is no style anymore to the badge of prefects if a Mudblood is likely to get it too! It's disrespectful and absolutely unacceptable that we are forced to– '

'Pansy!'

She stopped abruptly and looked around herself, as if noticing for the first time exactly whom she was talking to. Her eyes danced, not really focusing on anyone before they were locked to a pair of swirling and warning grey eyes. She knew perfectly well what that tinge of black meant when it leaked from Draco's pupils.

She tossed her head back and opened one beautiful big smile, her eyes darkening and a slight flush finding its way up the collar of her dress. She was dressed in black, like all of them were the cut of her cloth showing exactly what had changed on her body over the summer.

Draco could see Blaise's eyes adopt a golden shade as they traveled over Pansy's figure. The girl would never be luxuriously curvy but then again no one expected that of her. Although that obviously never stopped the boys from tilting their head to the side to check her out.

Malfoy didn't allow himself to bluntly inspect his wannabe girlfriend, just because he knew that that had been the purpose behind her cleavage. He wasn't one to give people what they wanted, and he most certainly didn't go for anything expected of him.

Besides that'd be more attention than Parkinson was used to from his part and the girl would probably find it absolutely odd and unnatural.

Pansy found her way idly and slowly to Draco, Crabbe and Goyle leaning back on their seats to give her a way they hadn't given Zabini. Neither boy really bothered to look up from the cards they had in their hands as she placed both hands at each side of Draco's head, just above his shoulders and leaned down to him.

'Draco...' she said dreamily 'How are you?'

The blonde boy knew very acutely her intentions and just for the sake of being obnoxious kept his face nonchalantly thrown back and his eyes firmly fixed on hers and nothing else.

'Very good indeed, Pansy...' he drawled back 'I see you bought a new dress...'

She grinned and nodded, pulling back and placing her hands over her hips as she showed herself to him. Draco could hear Crabbe sniggering at his side and saw Zabini's exaggerated roll of eyes from the corner of his.

'Did you like it, Draco, darling? I wasn't so sure of it but mother insisted and you know how I can't say no to her...'

Pansy was too busy caressing her hips and looking down at herself coyly to even notice her pretense boyfriend's movement. But even though she knew that it wouldn't have changed a thing, Draco was drastically and appallingly swift when he wanted to. Incredibly snakelike she had labeled it once; he had merely grinned at her and cheered with a glass of butterbeer at the time.

Without full comprehension of the situation she found long cold fingers wrapping themselves around her right wrist and then, with a blink, she was securely sat on Draco's lap. His left hand already buried in her hair and the other was still holding her wrist at her lap.

She looked at him, wide-eyed and knew by the greenish flavor in that grey ocean that he was very pleased with himself. That made her relax against him because it was better to indulge in Draco's good mood than stir his foul ones – which were far more constant to him.

The boy pulled her face closer to his once again, raising his chin so their lips were lined perfectly and just one little movement of his fingers at the nape of her neck would bring them together. But that wasn't the type of boy Draco Malfoy was, so when Pansy closed her eyes and began to close the distance between them she suddenly flinched at the handful those long fingers had of her hair.

He wasn't tugging it but was holding it strongly enough to cause the slight pain that was a gentle contrast to the way his fingerprints were being molded on the soft flesh of her wrist. It was only then that the brunette realized her slip.

'Pansy, Pansy...' Draco whispered coolly against her lips 'What have I told you on how I feel about endearments?'

She shivered and clenched her jaw, more at the chuckling noises coming from Zabini's throat and Crabbe and Goyle's open and curious stare than at the numbness of her hand as Draco's tight grip stalled any blood from going down the path to her fingertips.

'That you don't find them endearing...'

Draco had to give it to Pansy, her voice was even and still carried a tinge of the gushiness that she had used before. She also didn't flinch and other than a slight frown, and the darkening of her eyes, she didn't let on any discomfort at the way he was roughly treating her.

He smirked, a smirk that always brought his entire Veela heritage surface, a mist of alluring beauty and cold detachment that made him all the more entrancing. Pansy always found hard to look away when he smirked that way but in her defense it wasn't just her. Young Mr. Malfoy was finally learning his way to master his family's cruelty, even if he didn't quite know it yet.

'Exactly...' he brushed his lips against her cheek 'I'm glad you didn't forget...'

And just as he had caught her, Draco released her, pulling his feet to the floor and maneuvering the Slytherin girl to sit across from him. Both his hands were holding her right hand now, touching her tingling flesh back to life. That was what made Pansy overlook the way Draco sometimes acted.

There it was, the Malfoy heir petting – in his own Slytherin way – the same hand and fist he had clasped tightly and rudely in his hand. It was the closer to a caress that he could deliver her but in no way an apology. Even in that slow stroking was the undeniable hint of warning, the same she could see clearly in his eyes and smile.

'It is a very flattering dress, Pansy...' he commented as if there had never been an interruption to their conversation 'Your mother always had an unquestionable taste for clothes...'

'Which is the reason why she never trusts you to buy them, Pansy, my dear...'

Draco pulled away seconds before Pansy's fingers flexed as the blood brought the reflex back to her hand. He crossed his legs and casually raised his right hand, dropping it on the back of the seat, just behind Crabbe's head.

Standing at the door was the only girl who could trade barbs with Parkinson like an equal, even though she got nowhere near Pansy's charisma or physique. Millicent Bulstrode was tall, bulky and large. She looked much like the incredibly – and disgustingly – fat cat she was constantly holding. Her hair was a light auburn mass that only made sense when she tied it at the back of her head. Her voice was low and quite enjoyable; she never quite managed to reach one of those ridiculously high notes Pansy got to whenever she was in a temper.

Actually Draco knew that if there was something Pansy envied in Millicent, the only thing she could possibly envy, was the seductive voice. Parkinson had never been quite able to drawl without sounding pathetic but Bulstrode managed it with perfection.

'Oh...' Pansy feigned surprised, her voice dripping with sarcasm 'Millicent, honey... You're still breathing... How nice...'

Malfoy had always loved to watch the girls' interaction. His father had told him once that if he really wanted to learn how to insult someone, he had to pay attention at girls and women. At the age of 8, that idea had sounded absolutely absurd but with time Draco noticed that his father was right – as usual.

No one can be as crude and mean as women got to be when they put themselves to it. And he was lucky enough to grow up with the best in the game.

'And so are you, I see...' Millicent said softly with a tiny condescending smile 'How unfortunate...'

Blaise was grinning like a loon, while Crabbe and Goyle pretended to be completely focused on their game although Draco knew they had gone tense and ready to come in between the two girls, lest a catfight took place.

'Get in, Millicent...' Blaise mocked a reverence 'Join me and these incredibly entertaining gentlemen here... For those two will soon leave... To our utmost chagrin, obviously...'

Draco quietly watched as Zabini first gestured dismayingly at Vincent and Gregory before he pointed at him and Pansy. He simply raised an amused eyebrow but didn't say anything.

'Thank you, Blaise, but no can do...' Millicent shrugged 'I already got a compartment with Maddoc and Pucey... I just came here to talk to you Draco...'

At that his eyebrow rose even higher. He rarely ever exchanged words with Millicent. They did spend time together at school but since at least other four persons joined them when they hung out at the common room, and they didn't have that much in common anyway, they never were the chitchat types.

Pansy narrowed her eyes; to what Millicent only grinned as Crabbe, Goyle and Zabini looked at Malfoy in expectantly.

'And what would that be about, Blustrode?' he asked smoothly, almost imperceptibly impatient.

'Your father...' the girl supplied easily enough. Millicent might have the voice but she most certainly lacked the tact.

'My father?'

Draco felt Vincent and Gregory tense again. They were always ready to follow his orders and to protect him even if there was nothing really threatening him. He wondered at times if they could feel his distress as he could predict and sense their reactions to it.

The other girl nodded and Draco realized that her eyes were slightly wide, as if she was trying to send him a message of some kind. He forced himself to push his aggression to the back of his mind; there was no need to be violently defensive with Millicent.

Almost immediately he noticed the stiffness on Crabbe and Goyle's back disappear.

'He's at the Platform and asked me to call you...' she paused for a bit and locked her eyes with his 'He said it's urgent...'

It was an absolutely overlookable sound but Draco heard it and that collective gasp annoyed him all the same. He nodded slowly, sending a warning glance to everyone else before he addressed his answer.

'Yes, thank you, Millicent...'

Without further ado the other girl left them alone. The silence was deafening and Draco was back to staring out the window. He could feel Pansy's anxious stare, Zabini's suspicious frown and Vincent and Gregory's subtle glances from the corner of their eyes.

He felt like telling them all to bloody piss off but that would be useless. That was one of the things he was trying to change. Malfoy pushed his hands inside his pockets again, his index finger curling around his silver chain twice before he stood up slowly.

Pansy watched as Draco shook his shoulders lightly; getting rid of any wrinkles on his shirt and trousers without taking his hands from his pockets. His eyes were strained at the window but somehow she had a feeling that he wasn't seeing anything outside.

And just like that, without a word, he strode out of the compartment.

* * *

Hogwarts Express wasn't empty anymore when Draco made his way to the Platform 9 and ¾. He frowned and sneered at everyone who crossed his past, which at that moment was a number far too considerable than he'd have liked it. 

There were young wizards and witches all around, running in and out of compartments, becoming louder and louder by the second. He simply shoved the younger – or merely shorter - out of his way and curled his lip contemptuously at all the others.

He could hear the murmur that came from what were obviously unaware first-years, midgets who had clearly been lectured by their mothers about being good or they would turn out like that "dreadful Malfoy boy". Those would never become Slytherins and he knew it by their round and wide eyes.

Although all those pale little things, that looked at him with awe and the respect only a first-year can give a fifth-year, those were the ones who grew up hearing about "the Malfoy heir". The sons and daughters of former Slytherins and who knew exactly what it was to be Draco Malfoy, the son of Lucius Malfoy. To those he even had the mind to flash a grin or a wink, chuckling to himself at the way their adoration became almost tangible just because of this tiny display of attention.

It was always nice to have new blood at school. That meant new pupils and new preys and honestly Draco was never sure which one he liked best.

He took pleasure in scaring the kids and even more in irritating and hitting the older ones where it hurt the most. Of course his favourite baits were the Gryffindors, surprisingly enough Longbottom, who was so ridiculously easy to humiliate that Draco didn't know why he had so much fun with it.

But the thing was that he did, since their first year; he simply loved to taunt Neville. He sometimes thought about letting Potter know that when it came to a list, he only came second on Draco Malfoy's Bully List.

That out to knock down the Golden Boy's esteem a notch or two.

The thing was that Longbottom's obvious terror of him was incredibly amusing. Draco doubted that at the age of 11 he was terrifying but even then Neville, stupid, slow, fat and pathetic Neville couldn't stand upright next to him. At least not without trembling violently.

What had always gotten to Malfoy was that he was the one who did that to the other boy. He was aware that most of the guys who hated him back at school didn't act upon their dislike because of Crabbe and Goyle.

Everyone knew that if someone tried to pull anything funny on Draco Malfoy, there would be retribution. Not only from his father – and his unbelievable connections – but also from two giants, composed of muscle and an evil trade that had violence as an outlet.

But Longbottom, even though he stuttered whenever Vince and Greg were near, and flinched at the mere mention of Lucius Malfoy, he trembled whenever he saw _Draco_.

It was too good for him to give it up so easily or grow tired of it anytime soon.

That was why he started to keep an eye out for the Gryffindor stooge as he walked. It was after all better than try to guess why his father would actually show up after he was already settled in his compartment, let alone why the senior Malfoy would demand his company at the Platform.

This sort of behaviour from Lucius Malfoy never did bode well with his karma.

Shaking his head lightly, Draco got back to detachedly observe the other students – all the while boiling his repressed annoyance and anxiety, saving them to Longbottom.

As he finally stepped out of the Express it was obvious that the Gryffindor hadn't arrived yet, something that could be define as nothing else but a very unfortunate occurrence. It was almost as if Draco actually missed all those hostile faces and name-calling.

He grinned and the motion made a couple of girls gasp and flinch away. Someone bumped into him as he looked over a mass of heads and smiling faces after a serenely cold expression and a white gold curtain of white hair. Without glancing over to the offender, he simply pushed them back, barking a "watch it".

'Sod off, Malfoy! You bloody git!'

Spectacular.

'Piss off, Leprechaun.'

He heard then a new round of very colourful curses and knew without a doubt that with that thick accent and creativity – and vivacity – he could only be bickering at Seamus Finnigan.

It was one of the things he enjoyed about the other boy's Irish heritage. He was so damn irritable naturally that took really little to set him off. Besides he was a well of interesting swear words, a very good resource Draco had found.

'Yes, yes, Finnigan...' he said absently 'Drop dead...'

Still without looking at the boy he reassumed walking, his hands still in his pockets, as he glimpsed his father out of the corner of his eyes.

Naturally there weren't many people around Lucius Malfoy. In fact, it looked like his father had cast a protecting spell, forming an invisible wall around himself to keep everyone away, when the reality was that people were willingly keeping their distance.

It clearly was more than fine to his father who seemed none the wiser, as he tilted his head back. For a second Draco thought his father had seen him, he had the distinct impression that Lucius was looking at him and talking to him, for his lips moved too. But once those empty ice-blue eyes swam to his right, he was sure that his father hadn't noticed his approach yet.

Then Draco's attention was again stirred as he realised that Lucius' mouth was still moving, his head slightly tilted to the side. Once he pushed a couple to the side, he was absently aware that it was two Ravenclaws sixth years he and Pansy had caught snogging behind the Quidditch benches one night after hours.

They had taunted those two, and the Ravenclaw general lack of talent on carnal physical interactions, so much that they had even forgot to snog themselves.

Once those two were out of the way, and blushing crimson red as they clearly – and quietly – were remembering the incident, Draco was without doubt sure that his father was talking to someone. Actually he could see this someone standing at his father's side but since they had their back on him, he could see no recognisable feature.

Immediately he started to scan his mind at possibilities. The person was tall, almost his height if them standing at his father's side was any indication, and it was probably a female, taking in consideration the black robes' cut. But he didn't know the black curls that cascaded on their back.

The only girl he knew who had curls similarly like that and that dark was Daphne Greengrass but even she never had such an impressive length of hair. It went lower the waist, almost as long as his mother's straight blonde hair.

Draco knew it was unlikely that his father was just chatting with a student but that was clearly a school robe he was seeing. And it was equally unlikely that one of his father's – _connections_ decided to grace the crowded Platform 9 and ¾ dressed as a Hogwarts' student.

He took his time to walk to his father this time, trying not to draw attention to him and get himself time to discover what was actually going on. If he actually got near enough without his father acknowledgement, he'd be able to catch at least part of that conversation before Lucius was aware of his presence.

'... not telling him anything. I wouldn't underestimate him if I were you.'

'I do surely expect you not to tell me what he is capable of or not...'

' – ly not. But I do know a bit more about him than you, sir.'

Draco gasped and that was what caused his father to stall the furious answer he was about to deliver and whip his eyes in focus to find him.

'Well, well, _well_, Draco...' Lucius drawled 'It took you long enough. Miss Bulstrode didn't tell you I wanted to see you urgently?'

Draco lowered his eyes and looked at his shoelaces but didn't lower his head. He nodded and just then looked up – warily – at his father.

'I am sorry, Father.' He said evenly 'The Express is a pandemonium... I came as fast as I could...'

Lucius narrowed his eyes lightly but overlooked his son's slight challenge. But clearly that wasn't enough to keep him from answering it.

'What clearly wasn't enough' he continued before Draco had time to apologise once more 'I've got other things to do so I will be direct, Draco.'

The boy nodded and listened with great attention as his father leaned ever so lightly forward and he did the same.

'I am sure you have found a successful Intel to provide you useful information about some – developments for this year at Hogwarts...'

Draco didn't nod but also made sure that his eyes told his father that he knew exactly what was being discussed. He knew, obviously from his visits to his father office, about Fudge's _slight _alterations on a few laws in a desperate way to keep eyes – and perhaps a leash – on Dumbledore.

He didn't know how exactly had the First Minister managed to achieve that but he knew that Fudge had succeeded.

'Also, I trust you to know other things about Hogwarts' staff... More over their irresponsible absence in this beginning of term...'

Yes, he was aware of that too. He had no details, as usual, but he knew the basics and that meant he knew more than he should know. More importantly, he knew more than anyone else knew.

'That being, I gave the Minister my word that you will assist him on any possible way to make Hogwarts the school it's supposed to be. Without it's unsatisfying current administration.'

There it was. Draco smirked at his father's innuendo and imperceptible grin. People actually thought that he was used to receive any kind of order from his father. Surely Lucius was sure that he had absolute influence in his son's doings and decisions but when push come to shove he rarely ever put Draco in his – political strategies.

Of course there were several reasons for that but the most obvious was that Lucius didn't trust Draco in the least when it come to important and serious things. He was absolute confidant in his son's ability to make Potter and his pack miserable but that was it.

His son was too passionate and too eager and that caused a lot of mistakes.

Draco knew it by heart, the many reasons why he wasn't included in most of his father's business, even – especially – when they involve Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore and their followers.

This recruitment was new and it meant a lot. It wasn't just an opportunity; it was _the_ opportunity Draco had been waiting for years. His one chance to prove himself capable of being everything his father challenged him to be.

'I will assist the Ministry in anything I can, Father...'

Lucius nodded, taking in the way his son's eyes shone and his pale skin flushed ever so lightly with excitement and pride. It was his fist important test, and they both knew it.

'Very good...' he said absently 'And be very discreet...'

Draco became serious suddenly. He still doesn't trust me, he thought in chagrin, he came all the way here but still thinks I can't do it.

'But of course, Father...'

Lucius Malfoy was about to reply when his eyes narrowed to slits. Draco frowned at his father's abrupt silence and followed those blue eyes, now dark and sparkling with suspicion and annoyance.

He looked over his shoulder and couldn't help but narrow his eyes instinctively. The first thing he saw was too many red manes and freckled faces, changing occasionally only in age and gender. After that he saw muggle, despicable, clothes, brown plain curls and infuriatingly wise eyes. At last, round glasses, green eyes, raven unruly black hair and a lightening bolt shaped scar; a combination he had grown to loathe deeply.

But even though the sight of Harry Potter and his minions always did unnerve him and his father deeply, he didn't take long to realise what exactly had cause his father to interrupt himself.

It wasn't the Weasleys, the Mudblood or the Boy Who Wouldn't Just Die. It was a black, clearly wild, tall, slim and bear-like dog that was happily running around them. Draco heard when a boy, a Gryffindor no doubt, complimented Potter for his "pet".

Draco's hands were still inside his pockets and without really noticing he was clutching at his chain and badge so tightly that he was feeling their shapes moulding against his soft palms. The dog stood on its back pawns, resting it's front ones on each of Potter's shoulders as if trying to hug him.

Right after the Weasley woman hissed something at it, pushing it off Potter who was only laughing and petting the animal affectionately. Draco was watching carefully enough to catch the way the dog bared his fangs at the Weasley woman when she was not watching, licking his sharp and intimidating teeth at her, in an act that looked more like a childish act of rebellion – like a sticking of tongue – than a true threat.

But not even its abnormal size, or human uncanny, captured his attention more as it did the blood red colour of that beast's eyes.

'Well, well, _well_...'

It wasn't until his father put his hand on his shoulder that forced himself to look away from the animal.

'Go back to the Express...' he ordered.

The boy simply nodded and was about to leave when his father's hand tightened its hold against him, making him turn back around.

'You know what do to, Draco.' He said evenly 'I expect you will do it right.'

Draco only nodded, not trusting himself to respond. It wasn't the vote of confidence he would have liked but it wasn't full-fledged sign of distrust either.

And with his mind swirling with the vision of Potter's dog, and what the sight of it made him remember, Draco absolutely forgot about the mysterious student talking to his father.

* * *

Malfoy didn't really have the chance to indulge in everything that was crossing his mind, every piece of some big puzzle that he was finally putting together on his own. He couldn't help but feel as if he had just found a very important piece, something that he could no doubt use to his advantage. 

But Pansy had other ideas and worries.

'Where the bloody hell have you been?' she all but shrieked when he went back to the compartment where she and the others were still waiting for him.

'I believe you were here when I was told to go outside, Pansy.' He snapped, glaring at her 'If you've got a hearing problem, I don't, so stop screaming.'

The girl flinched lightly at his response but didn't back down. She simply shrugged his nasty behaviour off, with the easiness of one who had done it several times over the years.

'I am sorry if I thought that the reason why you won't take your hands from your pockets is because you can't wait to put your prefect badge on' she snarled in kind.

Draco frowned and stilled his hands, taking them off his pockets only then realising that his fingers had been moving relentlessly inside them. He damned himself for acting so abruptly and earning Pansy's ready smirk.

'Unless of course...' her smirk only widened 'You're toying with something else in your pocket...'

Malfoy rolled his eyes and shook his head, ignoring Pansy's giggles. Blaise was nowhere to be found, Crabbe and Goyle were silent as usual and that explained Parkinson explosion when he arrived. She had always told him that if there was something that drove her insane was spending time solo with Vincent and Gregory.

"I feel like screaming bloody murder until my head explodes whenever you leave me alone with them!", she had told him several times. And that never stopped him from doing just that whenever it was necessary, or when he felt like it.

'Do you have a point, Pansy?'

'Yes" she said becoming serious suddenly 'We have to go to the prefect's carriage to meet with the rest of that lot...'

'Right...' he frowned, shoving his hands inside his pockets again 'My things are there already, yours?'

Pansy nodded as she hooked her arm uninvited around Draco's and steered him to their destination. Malfoy's mind was already in gear, he couldn't help but think about that black dog and suddenly he was aware again of that student who had been talking to his father.

It had been a she, he knew it by the robes and the voice – he hadn't heard it clearly but he was sure it wasn't a male voice. But in that moment what ate at him was the fact he hadn't even seen that person's face, worse yet he hadn't even realised that she had left until she had been long gone.

He knew his father enough to be sure that he had to find out who that person was, what they had been talking about and why.

Again it was Pansy who took his mind off its current path.

'Draco...' she said lowly and hesitantly 'I just want you to know that-'

'Not now' he interrupted her.

'Listen, all right?' she snapped 'If you just let me finish, you'll know that all I want is to-'

'I said, not now, Pansy' he cut in sharply again.

At that the Slytherin girl huffed but kept silent, aware that there was no talking to him when he used that tone. It wasn't something Parkinson took much offence from; she was used to this sort of lashing out from almost everyone she knew. She was quite prone to do it also.

At the same time she knew that she'd be the one to deal with his annoyance later but for the time being she simply shrugged it off. It was his fault if he wouldn't listen to her. He always did that when she had something important to say.

They got in the compartment silently, Pansy sneering at everyone else and Draco with a blank expression. He was miles and miles away; Parkinson knew it so she didn't even try to bring him back.

Draco had been out of sorts for most of the summer. He never was the type to write back regularly but he eventually did. That summer he simply didn't bother to write anything that required more than a couple of words, which was frustrating to say the least.

For the first year too, he didn't gloat about his vacations, where he had gone, what he had seen and what he had done. As far as she knew, he hadn't left the house and that was strange in itself. Draco was never one to indulge in cosy home life.

He was keeping secrets she realised. Not that he had never had secrets before but this time it was different. He was keeping everything a secret, as if something very important had happened and he couldn't share it with anyone.

She sometimes thought she could guess what it was, but then again it was the obvious course of thought, what everyone thought and was marginally sure of. But she knew Draco, and he wasn't one to follow the obvious.

He had been born to be a rebel, granted a rebel who pissed his pants if he did his father wrong but still a rebel. That had been the reason why he had set out to haunt Harry Potter, when his father had told him to befriend the prat no matter what.

That was why his role model in that damn school was Severus Snape, the worst political, social, physical, and emotional model anyone could ever ask for. Pansy knew that Draco urged to prove himself to Snape, almost as much as he did to his father.

He never had hidden his thoughts about Dumbledore but something about that had always rung odd to Pansy. As it did almost every opinion Draco had about almost everything.

It sounded as if he was simply insistently playing the same record again and again; as if he only was fiercely reproducing something he had heard over and over. She had learned how to pick on when Draco spoke his mind or when he merely repeated his father's words to perfection. It was a difficult thing to do because most of the time Draco didn't know the difference himself.

But lately something was different. Lately Draco didn't talk much, he didn't gloat much and he thought a lot. What he thought about, as he sat at the prefect compartment, ignoring everyone else and staring out the window was unfathomable. He had only picked up his blazer and put it on, not exchanging any words or offences with anyone.

Well, only when he barked at Ernie Macmillan for sitting on his place but that had been quite fast for the other boy quickly moved away.

Pansy now stared at Draco, his profile more so. He had changed during the summer too. His nose, chin and cheekbones looked sharper, he had lost any round cheek he had ever possessed and his lips now looked fleshier than ever.

More over he looked pointy and pale, almost too pointy and pale but all the same beautiful. Draco had never been anything but beautiful, a beautiful baby, a beautiful child and was becoming a beautiful – and therefore dangerous – young man. A young man she didn't quite recognise since she saw him again.

Pansy inadvertedly placed her hand over his thigh, all the while looking at him so she would have the time to pull away if he wanted her to, he didn't so she stared to move her hand under his. It was weird, as it had always been, to touch Draco.

He was cold where everyone else was warm. For instance, his palms, even though they were both rested over his knees, they weren't warm and slightly sweaty as hers were, they were cold and dry. The same happened with the back of his knee, his neck and lips.

Draco was still looking out of the window. He felt Pansy's shy touch on his thigh and then frowned lightly when she made to slide her hand under his at his knee. He could simply pull away, or send her a look that would make her stay put. But on the long run that wouldn't matter anyway. The more he gave her, the more space she gave him.

That was something he had learned from his parents.

So he let her entwine their fingers, even though the act made his upper lip curl instinctively. One of the things he liked about being with Pansy was that she didn't need him. It wasn't as if she was gagging for him and he was taking advantage of it, and obviously it wasn't the other way around.

Pansy was there. Pansy was a pureblood. Pansy was a Parkinson and a Slytherin. Pansy was a good company. And Pansy cared about him, just as much as he cared about her.

They were not even close to the relationship people thought they had but it was safe. It was good and amusing, for both sides. So he let her because he knew she was nervous about being a prefect, because she was not used to be given any kind of responsibility.

Silly, shallow and stupid Pansy.

Just like the empty, bully and conceited Draco.

The truth was that she had things to prove herself and she understood him. They understood each other and that was convenient – not at all comforting but at least it was convenient.

'Only the Gryffindor prefects haven't arrived yet, yeah?'

It was Hillary Reeves, the Ravenclaw Head Girl. The one to answer that obvious question was the equally Ravenclaw Padma Patil. He knew her, had seen her many times. It was hard to miss twins at Hogwarts and the Patil twins were as recognisable as the Weasley twins were. Saved for the absurdly ginger head of course.

Her fellow prefect, Anthony something, was already taking notes but Draco wouldn't know of what. Ernie Macmillan was looking ever so the reluctant genius he wanted to be - his main frustration in life must have been his sorting in Hufflepuff. The female Hufflepuff prefect – he wouldn't be able to remember her name if his life depended on it – looked dreamy, decently pretty and all the way excited. A true representation of her house.

Hillary was checking her watch every five seconds, huffing something about lack of responsibility under her breath and sending suspicious glances at him and Pansy.

Actually that seemed to be what everyone else was doing, as if expecting the Slytherin couple to hex then at any second. Draco didn't care, he was used to that but he could understand why it affected Pansy. She didn't deal very well with silent tension; her things were offences and deprecating comments. Any environment that forced her to be quiet unnerved her.

The thought made him grin and he hadn't realised that he was looking over at Pansy until she mirrored his grin. He nodded once and then she only shrugged and looked away.

They did understand each other.

'I'm sorry!'

The door of the compartment was flung open and the sound made everyone inside either squeal or flinch. Pansy jumped slightly and Draco only frowned at the girl standing at the door.

She hadn't changed much during the summer; her hair was still everywhere and her eyes patronising. The Mudblood was the same annoying know-it-all she had always been. Draco heard Pansy grunting something under her breath and that made him smirk, Gryffindors always made Pansy happy.

She loved an opportunity to be mean and bitchy and they always provided that to her. Besides she took great pleasure in tormenting Granger, too.

'I'm really sorry, Hillary' the girl continued, flushed and honestly embarrassed 'We had problems coming and got late. I am really sorry... Come ON!'

Draco sighed as she urged something into the compartment. It'd be a good thing to finally get his bearings and fall into Hogwarts mode. The little bickering with Finnigan had been nothing, and sneers he spared to everyone. He hadn't spotted Longbottom but the next best thing was about to get inside and after two months he'd finally see the hated, despicable, annoying face of –

Ronald Weasley.

The ginger-haired boy burst into the compartment just like his friend had, his cheeks the colour of his hair as he bent forward and tried to catch his breath.

Draco felt Pansy's fingers tightening around his and that prompted him to pull his hand away. What the hell was going on?

'What are _you_ doing _here_, Weasley?'

The room went still. Every face turned to Draco who was now white with anger. Pansy didn't try to reach out to him; neither did she openly look at him. She knew that was coming and knew it wouldn't be good.

'Mr. Weasley is a prefect same as you, Mr. Malfoy, and he has every right to be in this compartment.' The Head Girl said slowly before shooting the Grynfindors a reproving look 'Even if dreadfully late.'

Granger blushed and nodded in acquiesce as she got a handful of Weasley's shirt and pulled him to sit beside her.

'_You_ are prefect?'

This time Draco heard Pansy's whooshing exhale. He knew he was hammering a very sore nail but he still couldn't believe it. Weasley? _Weasley_? But Potter – Potter was the old man's favourite boy. Potter was the bloody Golden Boy. What the hell was Weasley doing with a badge?

'Yes, Malfoy' the redhead hissed, saying his surname with that thick amount of hatred that only he could muster 'Got a problem with that?'

The Mudblood again gripped Weasley's clothes, urging him to stop. Draco was stumped for a second, scarcely aware that the other occupants of the compartment whipped their head from him to Weasley repeatedly.

Potter wasn't a prefect. Of all things he had thought possible, that most certainly hadn't crossed his mind. Since receiving the official letter and Snape's congratulations note, he knew, he simply knew that again it'd be him and Potter. Both Seekers, both unofficial leaders and both indisputable rivals.

Equals.

One way or the other.

But now. Draco felt himself pull his badge from inside his pocket and clutch at it tightly. He had it, Macmillan had it and Anthony Something had it. Hell, Weasley had it but Potter didn't. Harry Potter was the damn Boy Who Lived but wasn't the Gryffindor fifth-year prefect.

'It's official...' he said quietly 'The old man's off his rocket...'

'Shut up, Malfoy.'

Draco didn't pay any attention at the redhead's crimson ears or his affronted tone of voice. He simply turned to Pansy and blinked repeatedly.

'Potter isn't a prefect?'

'That was what I was trying to tell you before...'

'You knew Potter isn't a prefect?' he asked with a tinge of awe in his voice.

'I found out while you were at the platform...' the Slytherin shrugged.

'So you are prefect, not Potter?' he inquired Weasley, his amusement so clear that it took everyone by surprise.

The first to recover was Granger, as usual. She scowled at him and wrapped her fingers around Weasley's wrist, as if that would stall him from jumping at Draco with blood thirst carved all over his demeanour.

'No, Malfoy, Harry isn't prefect.' She snapped 'And yes, Ron is prefect. Are you done?'

Draco felt the corner of his mouth twitching and as he watched Weasley trembling and turning purple with anger, he felt that twitching pulling his lips to a lopsided grin that made Granger frown in apprehension and the red freak blink stupidly.

He leaned back on his seat, crossing his legs and nodding readily as he played with his badge, allowing Pansy to rest her cheek on his shoulder.

'Yes...' he chuckled lightly 'I'm quite done...'

'Well, now that you're _quite done,_ I want to start this meeting.' Reeves started in that bossy tone that came naturally to Ravenclaws 'As fifth-year prefects you have several duties and obligations to attend.'

Draco could see Granger looking lustfully at Anthony's parchment and quill, he knew it was killing her to receive instructions – regardless of how pathetic they could be – and not being able to write them down.

'Most of these activities that come with your badge, and the responsibilities attached to it, you'll learn in detail at your first Prefect Meeting later this week.' Hillary continued the speech she had clearly memorised. Pansy yawned noisily by his side.

'For now, what you have to know is that your duties today are the patrolling of the corridors and the tutoring of the first-years. Naturally you have to keep an eye open for any senior who might be misbehaving but retain to reporting them to me or Hildegard Jonce, our Head Boy.'

Draco knew Jonce from Quidditch. He was Hufflepuff's Keeper and Derrick had knocked him down during a match the year before with a very well aimed bludger. It had cost Slytherin a hundred points but taking in consideration that the substitute was inapt and Draco had caught the Snitch, no one really was bothered by it.

At least, no one in Slytherin.

'When we arrive at Hogsmeade you shall lead the new students to the responsible teacher and then leave to the Great Hall.' Reeves went on, pleased with Patil's complete attention and Granger unwavering stare 'After that you shall lead the students sorted into your House, teaching them the way, the password and showing their rooms. Any question?'

Of course, Granger's hand flew up in the air.

' Miss Granger?'

'Can we get the first-years together now as we patrol the corridors?

Hillary seemed to consider that before she nodded with an appreciating smile on her face. It was known the fact that the Ravenclaws regretted the Mudblood's sorting into Gryffindor. After all she was the spitting image of everything they stood for and represented.

She was annoying, unattractive, boring and plain.

'You can do that, yes...' Reeves finally answered 'Some students might be incredibly lost and in need of assistance of any kind. Remind me to give Gryffindor 20 points when we get at the castle. Anyone else?'

Pansy was about to groan aloud at another interruption, ready to bark at the stupid wench or git who had managed to keep them there for another excruciating minute when she realised that all eyes were focused on her.

She frowned deeply, not understanding why they would stare at her with those foolish faces when she noticed that they weren't looking at her at all. Shifting her weight and getting her head from Draco's shoulder for the first time, Pansy found herself ashamedly stumped too.

Draco couldn't help but raise an amused eyebrow and let his lips quirk teasingly as he kept his hand raised. He was counting, trying to figure out how long would it actually take for the Head Girl to go back to business mode.

He got to 15.

'Erm...' Hillary cleared her throat softly 'Do you have a question, Mr. Malfoy?'

He moved his hand, in a very condescending and dismissing way before he looked coyly at Hillary. She blinked a few times before an expected blush tinged her cheeks.

'Obviously, Reeves...' he replied but his tone wasn't crude or harsh, what gave the words an odd ring 'I'd like to know when I'll be able to take points and assign detentions...'

His inquiring had the response he was expecting. Grange's eyes narrowed, the Ravenclaws shook their head disapprovingly, Macmillan blinked twice not knowing if he should follow the others or nod his assessment to Draco's curiosity and the Hufflepuff girl gasped noisily.

Of course, the best one was the blood traitor's snap.

'Just the type of thing you'd like to know, eh Malfoy?'

'I'm not talking to you, Weasley.' Again he used the words but not the harsh infliction 'I think it's a very valid question and anyone with intellectual capacity of a Blasted Ended-Skrewt would do it.'

'Intelligence has nothing to do with cruelty tendencies, Malfoy...'

He flashed Granger a smile, which oddly enough carried all the venom he didn't put in his voice and made him look dangerous. Draco saw the way Weasley put a protecting arm around the Mudblood's shoulders and that only made his smile widen.

'I am pretty sure that you would never fathom any of my...' he looked thoughtful for a moment before he added pleasantly 'Tendencies, Granger... Not even if you tried _really_ hard...'

'Oh we can try, Malfoy.' Weasley hissed 'Look: stupidity, rudeness, bastardness, cruelty–'

Draco crossed his arms over his chest as the redhead boy counted off insults with his free hand, the other still over his friend's shoulder. The blonde boy only tilted his head to the side and leaned forward ever so lightly, his tone the one of those who were about to whisper something important.

'I see your point, Weasley.' He said contemptibly 'But you totally blew your argumentation: Granger already used cruelty and bastardness is not a word, you imbecile.'

'Shut up, Malfoy!'

'Very articulate, Granger... I see now that you are terribly busy improving your eloquence and are left with no time to actually take care of your hair...'

Draco's smile diminished ever so lightly at Pansy's hiss, his lips adopting the grin that came easily to him. The punch-able grin that clearly was making Weasel's blood boil in his veins.

'At least I actually do something productive with my time, Parkinson'

'Oh yeah... You read... And look like a beaver...' Pansy gave her a once over 'Very productive...'

'That's enough!'

The room went suddenly silent, the tension thick and oppressing but that wasn't anything new for anyone in that compartment, carriage or express. It was bound to happen whenever Slytherins and Gryffindors were forced together for any period of time.

'You are prefects now!' Hillary Reeves' voice echoed through the silence 'You have to settle the example and this behaviour will not be tolerated!'

Draco and Pansy weren't thrown off by the lecture in the least but the same couldn't be said about the Golden Couple who were now blushing deeply and mumbling apologies. Malfoy shrugged luxuriously and leaned back on his seat.

'So...' he continued as if nothing had happened, as Pansy placed her head back on his shoulders 'I'd like an answer to my question...'

The Head Girl looked at loss for a moment and by the way everyone else exchanged a confused look, he was sure that all of them were trying hard to remember what he had asked in the first place before everything got out of hand.

'The points' deduction and detention assignments, Reeves...' he supplied clearly bored.

'Oh... Right... Of course...' she nodded abashed before getting hold of herself again 'The prefects are only able to give detentions or take House points once they are officially in duty and that will only happen after the prefects attend their first Meeting. More over, those occurrences will only be valid on Hogwarts' ground – specifically inside the castle. Although you have the authority to record punishments now if it is utterly necessary, report them to me or Jonce so we call inform this particular student's Head of House so he or she can be punished when we get to the castle. Anything else?'

Draco shook his head and smiled again, making everyone tense and wary.

'No, Reeves...' he drawled 'That's more than enough...'

* * *

To ask for a Malfoy not to gloat, it's like asking the river to stop flowing or the sun to quit rising and setting every day. 

It was unheard of and if it ever happened, it'd mean a premonition of the end of the world, as we know it.

Now, to ask Draco Malfoy not to taunt Potter, Weasley and Granger was like asking him to forsake pleasure itself. It was like taking the heat from the fire, or the salt from the sea.

It simply couldn't be done.

So to Draco to know that for the first time in four years he'd finally have more, be more, destroy and terrorise more than he had ever done– well that was the closest to heaven he had ever been. But what really took him to nirvana was knowing that even with all the power he inadvertedly had, even with everything he was capable of being and doing, there was no _Scarface_ to get in his way or question him. There was no bloody orphan to match forces with him and for the first time, there was no harmony, no equilibrium to things.

Draco Malfoy was a damn fifth-year prefect and he would have to patrol the Express during the journey to Hogsmeade. He'd have to supervise the first-years and lead them to the teacher responsible to take them to the castle. He'd have to take them to the dungeons and teach them the password once they've been sorted.

But more importantly, he could deduct House points AND give detentions.

That could be summarised very neatly with one simple word.

Revenge.

Pay back for a wrinkle of nose at Madam Malkin's, a refused offering hand at Hogwarts, Quidditch defeats, duel humiliation and general annoyance.

It was so good to be 15 and Draco Malfoy.

'Draco...'

'Yes, Blaise?'

'You're still grinning...'

'I know that Blaise...'

'Well then..' the black boy grunted 'Bloody stop...'

But Draco didn't. He didn't because he was a prefect, he didn't because his father gave him a chance and he didn't because he had found the one thing that could help him get everything he had ever desired.

'Draco...'

'Yes, Pansy...'

'Blaise is right...' she shrugged 'You can stop grinning now...'

He only shook his head as he put on his robes. Crabbe and Goyle were already inside theirs. Parkinson and Zabini didn't bother but then again neither were planning on leaving the compartment anytime soon.

But Draco had things to do, mean things to say and people to irritate.

'Let's go...' he chuckled hollowly as he had ever.

And without another word he waltzed his way out, with the other two at his back. Blaise deemed necessary to raise his eyes from his book just when the blonde boy was out of earshot.

'What got him in such a great mood?'

Pansy shrugged and smiled softly, inspecting her nails.

'What ever does?' she clicked her tongue against her teeth 'Potter, obviously...'

The path through the corridors was clear and Draco had all the room he could ask for, even a bit more. He was so busy in his exhilaration that he overlooked, as always, the fact that it was only so because Vincent and Gregory were shoving everyone out of his way.

His hands were once again in his pockets and he whistled carelessly, ignoring possible cursing or painful sounds. He hadn't bothered to put his badge on, but he'd have enough time to feel it on his chest.

He had a whole year to enjoy it there. As it happened, Draco was enjoying his "patrolling". He patiently looked inside the compartments, flashing a grin or a sneer, depending of what he seemed fit for each grimace he encountered.

It was an acquired talent and he knew it, but he did have the bloodline to justify it and enhance it. Not to mention that he did have the looks. His whistling was unending, he didn't even realise what tune it was but that didn't matter. His thumb gingerly caressed the locket attached to his belt, as his other fingers hooked around the chain in his left pocket.

His wand – that he had kept shrunk inside his shirt's pocket – was now in its natural size and inside his robes. That was another thing that never failed to lighten his mood, the weight of his wand and its soft tapping against his stomach.

And soon he'd be able to use it to his heart's desire. Draco never understood that stupid law about underage wizard's use of magic. How could they give them wands at the age of 11, teach them how to use, let them feel the pleasure of using them and then shake their heads, saying that they'd have to spend two bloody months with their wands at their reach but not being allowed to cast one single spell?

Or charm?

Or hex?

It was damn stupid in his opinion. Even though he had loved that law fiercely when he was thirteen and loved it even more not two weeks ago, when it concerned him, he resented it deeply.

It wasn't as if he'd go berserk and deranged enough to cast spells and hex people just because he was a teenager and annoyed. He was pretty sure the one person prone to do that was well out of his teens and did so especially when he was _not_ annoyed at all.

It was Gregory's grunt that got him out of his reverie. Without asking for a better, more articulated, response he instinctively looked around himself, trying to gauge in his surroundings a reason for the other boy's noise.

He didn't have to look too hard. Draco knew that if he hadn't been too busy spacing out and whistling, he would have heard them a long time before. His ears were trained for that lot and, most of the time, so were his senses. But he was in a good mood just then and that made him lapse.

And his mood was so good that he didn't even berate himself for it. With one single tilt of his head both Crabbe and Goyle were pushing open the door of the compartment at their right. Draco took his time to step in between them, his smirk ready and firmly on his lips.

There they were. He could see Longbottom (already shrinking away from the door), the Weasley girl glaring fiercely, Weasel and the Mudblood setting their jaws and frowning deeply but obviously his full attention was at the four-eyed cold stared of Harry Potter.

'What?'

Amazing, how amazing it was that he could get that tone without even saying a word. The animosity was tangible, it was oozing from Potter's every pore. Draco's smirk only widened.

'Manners, Potter, or I'll have to give you a detention,' he drawled easily enough 'You see, I, unlike _you_, have been made a prefect' he spoke as if he was talking to a very stupid child 'Which means that I, unlike _you_, have the power to hand out punishments.'

He watched as Potter's eyes narrowed ever so lightly. It was a give away really how open the brunette boy was. Draco was sure that the only reason no one – not even Snape – had ever caught the Golden Boy in his lies was the fact that no one could ever prove that he'd done something wrong.

But naturally that little fact would never stop Snape from trying.

'Yeah, but _you_, unlike me, are a _git_, so get out and leave us alone.'

Draco's lip curled at Potter's snap, his hands closing reflectively inside his pockets. The ice-cold feel of the chain in his fist was welcomed and calmed him down, even though his nails were piercing the soft flesh of his palms.

It was the rumbling of Crabbe and Goyle's grunts at the others' laugh that brought him back from the extenuous exercise of self-control.

'Tell me, how does it feel being second-best to Weasley, Potter?'

That about did it. The laughter died instantly and he was the one dealing the cards again. He didn't miss the way Potter's hands closed at his lap, or the squeak leaving Longbottom's throat. The Weasleys were both crimson red with fury and Granger was obviously trembling with anger.

'Shut up, Malfoy!' 

His smirk returned, his fingers uncurling but still hidden in his pockets. Potter was shooting daggers at him, as everyone else and honestly he couldn't have been more delighted with that if he tried.

'I seem to have touched a nerve' he feigned surprise, his tone nastily solicitous as he added 'Well, just watch yourself, Potter, because I'll be _dogging_ your footsteps in case you step out of

line.'

'Get out!'

He mocked a bow at Granger before he swiftly found his way out, all the while sniggering contently. It didn't take him more than two steps and he was whistling again.


	3. Chapter Two

This chapter contains chapter contains lines copied directly from OOTP

* * *

**Chapter Two **

_One moment of patience may ward off great disaster._

_One moment of impatience may ruin a whole life. _

-- Chinese Proverb

* * *

"_Elementari: (Elementary) Wizard or witch with great magic ability, developed from an early age. Its magic is the element of their being and the essence of all magic (**Pure Magic**), showing itself since before birth and possibly lingering after its death. This sort of power is rare but shows itself steadily throughout wizarding history. The prophecy says that every new generation must have an Elementari to balance the magic core of all Wizarding World with **Pure Magic, **otherwise all magic will crumble and die. For that same reason, all Elementari are doomed to be **Pure Magic**'s very own human ward. The stronger the generation, greater will be the Elementari's power."_

* * *

'Do you want some?'

Draco didn't bother to respond. He was back at the compartment with Vince and Greg, and found that once his first confrontation with Potter was off his To Do List, he was left with almost nothing left to actually do.

Especially because the Golden Boy had tackled Longbottom with him and that ruled out any other fun activity for the rest of the journey. Sure there were plenty of people to torment, but it simply wasn't exciting – or stylish – to hunt them down the corridors. Besides, they'd soon be back at Hogwarts and he'd have all the time in the world, not to mention a lot of option.

As it was, he was back at staring out the window and continued to ignore the rest of his companions.

Greg and Vince had basically bought enough sweets for an army as soon as the food trolley had passed by, as usual. Pansy deemed necessary to do something else than reading her magazine only to buy a couple of Chocolate Frog Cards and yet Blaise wasn't anywhere to be found.

Draco had declined the chocolate once and by the second time Parkinson repeated the offer he simply tuned out any possible vibration disturbing the airwaves that could resemble her voice. He didn't really mind, never had, when she did that but that had been before. In fact, he wouldn't be able to say how exactly his feelings about it had changed but they had and he just wanted it to stop.

It was weird, the way he seemed easily irritable now but suddenly more patient. Pansy had never been the clingy type, pretty self-assure she never even dared to control him in any way. Simply because, honestly, she didn't care. Pansy did what she felt like doing, and he didn't care also.

The thing was that she was over-bearing at times. She was fiercely protective of him, almost to the point of madness, and she thought highly of him, sometimes _too _highly. He figured she acted like that because he was indeed a masterpiece as far as bone structures were concerned, so it wasn't really her fault if she had an amazing taste in men.

Truth was that all the Slytherins were tad protective of each other. Naturally Draco was the one most of them turned to and therefore admired in different degrees. They even feared him somewhat, but that wasn't really mandatory. Mostly they simply envied him for several reasons.

One of the things that he appreciated in Pansy was that even though she was undoubtedly his most fervent allay and supporter, she was nowhere close to be submissive. It was only her way to let him vent his shit, but that didn't happen all the time.

He still bore the faint marks of her nails on the inside of his right thigh, from one day when he had insulted her. They had been only 9, at that time he was still in his "I hate girls" phase and had found incredibly funny to manhandle her and pour almost one bucket of sand over her head.

Pansy had also been the only one to ever slap him on the face. Well, aside from the Mudblood incident in third-year but he had prohibited Crabbe and Goyle to ever talk about it with anyone, and as far as he was concerned that had _never_ happened. All the times when Parkinson got to him, just as bad and crudely as he sometimes got to her, Malfoy couldn't help but recognise the fairness of it all.

She didn't fear him in the least. She indulged at time, that was for sure, but Pansy had never feared him. Sometimes he figured that he should be wary of her, she was after all Pansy, and a woman, meaning that she was absolutely unpredictable. But then again, so was Vince and Greg. And so was Blaise, unreliable Blaise, or Millicent, Malcolm, Adrian, Daphne and basically everyone else in his House.

But even with all the lying, deceit, suspicion that had been etched in their personality, that came naturally enough to them as both attack and defence systems, the Slytherins were one. They would be there for each other, no matter what. The same way that they could count on Snape, even – _especially_ – if they were at fault.

There was no denial that the professor would peel the incompetent alive for being caught, but that would only happen down at the dungeons and far away from an unwanted audience. In front of everyone else, he'd stand up and fight for them at all times.

Draco frowned lightly and let his eyelids flutter shut for a few seconds, enjoying the darkness before prying his eyes open again.

He couldn't remember a time in his life when he didn't know and respect Severus Snape. The older man was efficiently unperturbed, absolutely indefinable and without a doubt unpleasant. Snape was also Hogwarts' youngest professor and the best Potions Master in generations.

His father had once told him that his Head of House had brewed a Polyjuice Potion at the mere age of 7. By the time he was a fifth-year, Severus was able to create potions and spells with a perfection that most people couldn't match.

"Severus is a genius in his craft, absolutely the best at what he does, Draco" Lucius would tell him "If you really want to learn something in that school you will do it from him."

It was something he took to heart, avidly. Lucius Malfoy almost never complimented anyone. And even if his father hadn't said anything about the Potions Master, Draco was sure he'd admire him all the same.

Snape wasn't the ideal model, for he wasn't an ideal human being. But then again no one expected the heir of the Malfoy legacy to have high moral standards. Almost everyone figured that his respect came from the simple fact that his professor seemed to loathe Potter as much as, or even more than he did it.

But that wasn't it, of course it helped his identification with the older man, still it wasn't just that. Severus Snape challenged Draco Malfoy. That might not mean much to everyone else, just because they couldn't understand.

They would never comprehend the victory it was to be the only one to get an "O" from Snape, they didn't know what it was to earn one cold nod and drawled congratulations from a man who would likely to spit fire at anyone who cut a herb on the diagonal. They would never experience the exhilaration of being the only student that Severus Snape actually _respected_.

Not even the other Slytherins understood his dedication to trying to please Snape and making him proud. Draco didn't have to prove anything to a greasy old man, who couldn't be more of a bastard if he tried.

Malfoy didn't give them any explanation or attention. If even being with the man for four solid years wasn't enough to make them recognise Snape's brilliance, then he wouldn't point it out to them.

He wrinkled his nose lightly, when a ray of sunlight blinded him for a second. Crabbe and Goyle were grunting almost inaudibly and Pansy turned the page noisily as she continued to read, she had clearly – and finally – given up on stuffing him with chocolate.

Despite of what everyone else thought, the relationship between Lucius and Severus was turbulent. Draco didn't know exactly how they actually got close, he could suspect on the _why_ but that was pretty much it. It had been plain to see from the beginning that even though his father acknowledged his Head of House's talents, they were incredibly different individuals.

Not opposites _per se_, just not the same.

Malfoy was smooth, Snape was harsh. Lucius was sociable, even if driven by dubious intentions, Severus abhorred any kind of interaction, and became extremely hostile when forced to be anything but sullen.

Still they were both ruthless, his father and his professor. They were indecipherable, absurdly intelligent, and two beautifully prolix sons of a bitches.

The blonde boy chuckled lightly, and crossed his arms over his chest. Those two could fool and convince almost anyone about almost anything. It was very amazing to watch really. The way people would always assume that Severus Snape was joking when he said that he was tempted to murderer at least one of his students everyday for messing up with a potion, just because the damn prats couldn't measure the ingredients right. Or when people blushed deeply out of ignorance at his father's double-edged comments about their appearance, and mental capacity.

Draco always loved the older men's power over words and how they were constantly using it to their advantage. It was the sort of refined art that he didn't possess yet, and that he really hoped he could master one day.

'You won't believe it!'

The door was flung open savagely and a flustered looking Blaise trotted inside. The only one who gave him any kind of attention was Pansy, who raised her eyebrow and looked over his blazing honeyed eyes.

She was immediately interested in whatever Zabini had to say. His eyes rarely ever looked that way, so sweet and big. It normally meant that something pretty awful was about to happen to someone.

He didn't wait to be questioned, as he usually did, he simply sat in front of Parkinson and crossed his legs, much in Draco's fashion without quite catching the feline casualness.

'I was walking around, you know, observing the scenario...' he waved his hands dramatically 'And collecting important information...'

'Gossiping again, Zabini?' Malfoy's soft comment made itself heard in Blaise's theatrical hesitance 'I have already told you how unmanly that is...'

'The emblem of masculinity, you are Malfoy...' the black boy replied slightly ruffled.

'Why... Thank you...'

'If you're done pulling each other's pig-tail' Pansy growled 'I'd like to know what you found out, Blaise...'

And as easy as that Zabini recovered and swallowed what would only be the beginning of an endless bickering.

'Actually, my news are going to interest you the most, Draco, my friend...' he grinned unpleasantly, his eyes adopting a dark honeyed shade.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow but didn't move. He knew that Zabini was looking for a reaction, something Impatient-Draco would have provided long ago. But as it happened, he was getting the hang of being patiently obnoxious.

'Really?' he drawled lazily.

'Really...' Blaise chuckled throatily 'One for very perverted reasons, the other just for the sake of... annoying you...'

Draco narrowed his eyes at the window. They would be at Hogsmeade in less than one hour, he couldn't help but wonder what exactly would be at odds this year at Hogwarts. His hands closed around his biceps and he tried to ignore the urge to play with his locket and chain again. If he weren't careful, it'd turn into a very suspicious habit.

'Just bloody say it, Blaise!'

It should have been him, but it had been Pansy.

'All right, all right...' the other boy said comically, as if he were the host of a great show, trying to appease a crowd of hundreds. After that he quickly went back to arse mode, as Millicent had labelled it.

It was that face, voice and demeanour that every boy in Slytherin had whenever they were being nasty on purpose, just to be annoying at another housemate. It was different because it was meant to tease but didn't have a lot of venom, especially in comparison with the wanker mode they reserved for everyone else.

'I believe we will have a new colleague down at the dungeons this year, Draco...' he smirked wolfishly 'One of the exchanged students this year is two years our senior... And since he's a Durmstrang's spare, I wonder where he'll be sorted into...'

Malfoy remained stoic. Why would that matter to him? Every year they had a new student, transferred from either Durmstrang, or Beauxbatons, and sometimes even others and more distant schools. Only last year Yuri Hasegawa joined the Slytherins after three years at Sakurazukamory, the best wizarding school at the Orient.

Surely it was a bit surprising that that year they had any new students at all. Even though Hogwarts was a Triwizard Champion, one of the champions did die and its Headmaster was losing any possible prestige he might have had one day.

Unless he was planning to ask the new guy why the hell he had even contemplated leaving an incredible school such as Durmstrang, he couldn't care less. Draco had always desired secretively that he had gone there instead of Hogwarts. But for obvious reasons that wouldn't have been the best marketing stunt he could have pulled.

'What is it to Draco?' Pansy stifled a yawn and went back to her magazine, clearly disappointed and bothered that Zabini had interrupted her for apparently nothing.

'Well... Nothing, really...' Blaise backpadded, what was never a good sign 'I just thought he'd appreciate to know that one of his _closest_ friends from Russia will be our new housemate for the next year...'

Even though he could feel Zabini's gaze on him, Draco was sure that the black boy had not seen his imperceptible wince.

_Damn_.

That much of nonchalant in Blaise's voice could only mean one thing.

_Piotr Antokolsky_.

Pansy tensed.

Crabbe and Goyle continued obliviously playing card, not even daring to understand the innuendo.

Blaise was grinning maniacally.

Draco counted till one hundred, trying to weight the possibility of losing his prefect badge for hexing Zabini out of the Express and the pleasure that act would provide him.

'Also...' he entwined his hands over his lap 'We apparently have an Elementari with us... In our year even...'

'An _Elementari_?'

The black boy smiled and nodded, very pleased with Draco's sharp tone and barely hidden surprise. That made the other boy lean back on his seat, because he was ashamed to realise that he hadn't even noticed when he had moved away from the window and closer to the others.

'But we don't have an Elementari in our generation...' he countered with a sneer 'The last one was Eileen Prince... Well over 30 years ago...'

'Well that's not acutely correct...'

For the first time since he got back from his "patrolling", Draco looked at Pansy Parkinson. In fact as he did, he was well-aware that he made everyone in the compartment do the same. The Slytherin girl only had eyes for him though.

'We do have an Elementari in our generation...' she said absentmindedly 'It only so happens that no one knows who this person is. The Ministry knew of their existence and my father said that they found the Elementari. But since the parents didn't want anything to do with the Ministry, they simply didn't say a thing about it to anyone. Besides, with everything that was happening years ago it wasn't as if Britain was worried if a little precocious magic hairball was born or not.'

What infuriated Draco wasn't the fact that he didn't know any of that. He didn't know whole lot of things, but what truly got him hot flushed with indignation was that Pansy knew something he didn't.

The only explanation for such a gap in his database was the fact that by the time his father was informed of any of it, he most likely was still in his diaper and therefore incapable of sneaking around the house after bleak information.

But that sure as hell didn't make him feel any better.

'Why did your father tell you that?'

Pansy frowned. She leaned back on her seat and pulled the magazine to her eyes, but he could see that her gaze didn't move over the page.

'He mentioned it at the end of my third-year, more or less...'

Malfoy didn't push it. He knew that Mr. Parkinson had given Pansy the lecture of this century because of her lousy grades. Not that he really blamed the man, his father for example would probably turn him into an eunuch if he even imagined showing anything else but a collection of "O"s at the end of each year. His lowest grade so far had been an "E" in Arithmancy in second-year.

He still hadn't heard the end of that one, for his father always found fit to rub it in.

'How are you so sure the Elementari is here, Zabini?' it was his business voice, the one that didn't conceal his focus, determination and reeling mind.

Blaise, now much more interested in his own news than he had been before, wrinkled his nose in thought.

'Cormac McLaggen let me know when I encountered him on my way to the bathroom...'

'You mean you eavesdropped his conversation with someone else.' Draco raised a daring eyebrow.

'Same thing...' Blaise shrugged indifferently.

Malfoy only nodded in assent.

'And do you know who the Elementari is?'

'No...' Zabini looked distressed for the first time 'That fat wire-haired idiot didn't know either...'

'Well, well, _well_...' Draco began, without noticing Pansy's surprised expression 'That was a very unsatisfactory addendum, Zabini... But it will do...'

Blaise was about to retort when he caught Parkinson's blue eyes, now shimmering with a frayed greenish hint of warning. He sneered and grunted something under his breath but didn't continue.

Without a word he stood up and left once again, his beautiful ebony face set and his eyes amber with annoyance and determination.

* * *

Draco only saw Zabini again when they got to Hogsmeade and even then it was fleeting because as soon as his housemate got hold of his belongings he was out of the carriage without a word. It wasn't really like Blaise to do that, but it he didn't mind at all.

Knowing the other boy, Malfoy was sure that he was trying to find out who the Elementari was, at all costs. That was good enough for him because he knew that he would be the first one Blaise would come back to with the information.

Draco frowned as he got hold of his trunk. He wasn't even officially back at school yet and he had more than his share of problems. No matter how hard he tried to think about everything his father had told him, and tried to draw a plan, a strategy, the sight of Potter's bloody dog would always come back to him.

There was also the mysterious student interacting with his father back at the platform.

As he shoved and pushed people, luggage and pets out of his way he couldn't help but look around for a glimpse of those curls again. It was useless, the night had fallen heave and the wind was merciless.

He'd have to wait, and give the student body a throughout perusal at the Great Hall. The dinner would provide him a brilliant opportunity to pinpoint the girl. Once he'd done that, he would extract from her everything he needed to know about what he heard earlier that day. No one talked to his father like that impudently.

Pansy was nowhere in sight and Draco didn't bother to actually look out for her. Vince and Greg were quickly finding – _forcing_ – their way to him. He could hear some people screaming, a few asking about an item of their luggage that they couldn't find, others just hurrying people out of their way or commonly hollering for their friends' and companions' attention.

Oh, _right_.

There were prefects supervising the first-years too.

One of the buggers shoved his damn owl's cage in his shin as he stood there waiting for Crabbe and Goyle. Draco didn't think twice about it and got hold of the midget's robes, lifting him off the floor.

'If you get that cage near me again, I will make a stick out of it and roast this bloody owl like a chicken with it. Are we understood?'

The little brunette looked on the verge of tears, trembling fiercely and his big brown eyes growing in fear as he nodded frantically.

'Let the boy go, Malfoy! _NOW_!'

He didn't bother to put the poor boy back down as he let his grey bottomless eyes find the source of that hideous squeal. His lip curled when he got a glimpse of dirty-brown bushy curls and a red badge.

But, of course.

'I said let him go, Malfoy!' Granger's voice shook with her indignation.

'I heard it the first time, Granger.'

'Then do it!'

Draco turned back at the boy, who now had a very worrying tinge of pink over his round cheeks. Apparently the hold he had of the boy's robes was cutting the titchy's oxygen supply.

'You better keep your distance, you hear me?' he drawled softly as he let the boy go 'I don't give second warnings. And the castle is a very big property, someday you might find yourself alone at one corner without a nosy Mudblood prefect to sweet talk you out of trouble.'

'Malfoy! Are you threatening a student?'

Draco grinned, making one of his canines show. Granger blinked at the way he seemed to be white and pale all over, devoid of anything that might give people colour and make them human.

'Only giving helpful advises, Granger... Like a true prefect out to...' he then swatted the back of the boy's head, rather hard, and without casting him another glance barked "Beat it!".

The boy didn't need to hear it twice and soon he ran away from the older one's reach as fast as his little legs would carry him, his trunk and cage.

'I will report you, Malfoy!' the Mudblood chimed 'You can't do that to them just because you've got that badge on your ches– '

Draco didn't wait to hear the end of it, he merely turn his back on Granger and began his path to the carriages. Crabbe and Goyle had already reached him by then. On his way, he encountered Macmillan and the male Ravenclaw prefect – Goldstein, Pansy said was his name – trying to get a bunch of first-years to shut the hell up and get a move on after Professor's Grubbly-Plank shrilling voice.

'Hey, Malfoy!' Macmillan shouted after him 'Can you give us a hand?'

'_Pass_.' He replied readily without looking at the Hufflepuff or slowing his pace.

As soon as he got at the carriages he saw Pansy again, fuming as she dragged her trunks and pushed everyone out of the way. She was muttering darkly under her breath.

'Would you believe that those cows Granger and Patil were trying to corner me into chaperoning the blasted nose-dripping hellions?' she said in that high-pitched voice she only had when she was furious, Draco was sure that when she reached that note only dogs could actually hear her.

That's why he didn't even bother to try to comprehend the rest of the story as she went on. Vince and Greg followed them along, mindless of anyone they could accidentally hit with their trunks, broomsticks and cages.

When Draco found a carriage he felt like using, he trotted directly to it. A second-year seemed to be embarrassed and lost as he attempted to get inside of the carriage, nothing that a snarled "Move along" didn't solve.

As Pansy got in the carriage Malfoy looked over her shoulder at the seemingly empty shafts. He knew it, every single detail. Visible bones through black cloaks, dragonish head and white scrutinising dead eyes. He had read about them, had heard people's description when no one else thought he was paying attention and once, in his third-year, he had even found a drawing that a seventh-year had left at the common room to impress the kids. But something told him that nothing would compare to the real thing, the undeniable sight of a Thestrall.

Draco had never seen one, but he was fascinated about them all the same. He had lost counts of how many times he had irritated his father to the point of madness, trying to get a reliable picture from him. Lucius never bothered to give in to his curiosity, a lesson his son was taught from a very small age.

On the matter, the only thing that he had ever old Draco had been a very cryptic "You'll see them one day. And you'll wish you never had". But then again Lucius Malfoy always had a cryptic statement to deliver.

As it was, he still had no idea of what those reptilian horses actually looked like.

'What are you doing here?'

Crabbe and Goyle stepped forward, blocking the cool air at his back. His eyes snapped back to the interior of the carriage, trying to gauge an explanation for Parkinson's outburst. The blonde boy squinted his eyes, the enchanted candles inside the coach provided a very insufficient amount of light but he was more than used to it.

Pansy stood there, her hands on her hips – what was pretty much her attack stance – and her eyes freezing blue. She was slightly leaned forward, her demeanour screaming only one thing – hostility. Moving his gaze, and easing his light frown as his eyes got used to the dimness, he found someone sat at the farthest corner. Whomever this person was, they were reading a very thick book, and didn't even bother to look up at the Slytherin girl.

Draco got into auto-pilot and got inside, Vince and Greg following suit. He was just in time to hear a very flat answer.

'Reading...'

Uhh, bad move.

Parkinson was practically spitting fire already. It was really pinned down to a very simple fact, Pansy was annoyed, frustrated and generally pissed-off. She was dying to let it all out.

'Do I know you?'

The pheromone was tangible. Only feeling half-obliged Malfoy kept himself at the girl's side, all the time his eyes were focused on the figure that was hidden behind the book as the shadows cast over it seemed to increase and deepen.

He watched as the book began to slowly slide down, he couldn't discern anything until he got a glimpse of skin. The book continued it's way down, revealing thin and delicate eyebrows. A girl, most definitely.

But who?

No one would dare to match forces with Pansy like that, not even the older students. Not even the older _Slytherins_, so any other option was completely ruled out.

Unless.

Unless one of the Hufflepuffs had finally met her way to the deep end and set herself in a blind death wish. It was known to happen. At least, that was what he told the first-years every year.

Draco blinked, his lips twitching at the fun he was about to have while he watched Parkinson skinning alive this little unaware, pathetic, idiotic, absolutely Hufflepuffian, insane–

The book stopped in mid-air.

He stopped gloating.

Malfoy was used to unusual things, he was pretty much used to unusual legacies when it came to pureblood's bloodline. The marriages between close families, and at times relatives, always ended up causing very impressionable and unnatural consequences.

Sometimes this breeding, for lack of better word, failed immensely. The examples were plain to see really, just on the top of his head the name Longbottom came instantly. Weasley following, almost taking the first spot. McLaggen's weren't known for their beautiful physique either, and the same could be applied to the Bulstrodes.

But other times, that mix and strengthening of certain characteristics worked marvellously. Draco was the ultimate proof of that, after all, if it weren't for his family's mugglephobia he might never have had his hair, his eyes and skin.

The world would suffer, most certainly.

Even though, perfection didn't really have to be used as example. For instance, Blaise's eyes were unbelievable, as so were Pansy's and – it pained him greatly to admit this – so were Potter's. It was the kind of heritage that carried a specific kind of magic, or there actually had ever been a muggle whose eyes twinkled? Or eyes so black and bottomless that crushed you with their malice and could make almost everyone squirm under their penetrating glare? Or a beauty so cold and captivating in its innocence that couldn't be a better shell for the purest of evil?

Magic was everywhere and affected wizards and witches in the most common and normally overlooked ways.

But in all he knew about bloodlines, and everything that could go right – or terribly wrong – in some unorthodox relationships (Veela's blood had ever only been strong in one wizarding pureblood family, the same happened with a very unexplainable mix with Vampires – although several had died or suffered other gruesome consequences with such breeding), Draco was pretty much sure he had never seen violet eyes.

Sparkling – and annoyingly twinkling – blue, yes. Honyed and maliciously golden, sure. Blindingly green, unfortunately so. Breathtakingly grey, every single day. But violet? Deep, swirling, indecipherable violet? Never.

But there they were, carefully looking over at Pansy and holding everything back. One blink and those eyes were darkening, before his very eyes, he saw the black leaking out the pupils and taking over completely.

Crabbe grunted nervously.

Goyle sniffed noisily.

Pansy's teeth were gritting so fiercely that he was sure that Madam Rosmerta was hearing the noise.

And Draco simply couldn't look away.

Then, when those eyes were completely black but absolutely opaque, they turned back to the book, not bothering to hide again.

'I doubt it.'

He didn't look over to the other boys, he knew that they were apoplectic. And if he had no glamour at all he probably would have been too, visibly so even. But Malfoy had style and he only narrowed his eyes. He had to be alert, lest Pansy self-combusted in fury.

'Get. Out.'

It was hissed, hoarse and firm. It didn't sound like Parkinson at all. Draco mildly thought that she had finally managed to sound threatening and not only bitchy.

'No.'

Malfoy heard a sharp intake of breath and for one frightening moment he thought it had come from him. He blinked and frowned, ready to threaten anyone else with a very bloody death if they ever mentioned it to anyone, but a quick sideways glance told him that Crabbe and Goyle weren't looking at him but at Pansy.

'What did you say?'

The girl was shaking, her hands already curled into fist as she stepped forward unconsciously. He was surprised that she hadn't reached for her wand yet, Parkinson was known for her short temper. One of the many things that favoured people's wronged conclusion about the real status of their relationship.

'I said no.'

What struck odd in that voice was the fact that no matter how hard Draco tried, he simply couldn't detect anything in its tone. No contempt, no mockery and not even superiority. It was a blank infliction that he had heard many times before but never from someone his age.

It didn't spurt his protectiveness, something he'd deny forever that he actually felt towards anyone, because he couldn't find any kind of aggression in it. He was very good at noticing an offence, no matter how subtle or masked it could be. When you're a Malfoy and you aspire to be Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape, you are forced to learn how to decode words. Draco could not be the most sarcastic git he had ever known but he sure as hell knew one when he found them.

Still, there was nothing there. Not one single, simple or complicated irony. There was absolutely nothing in that low, albeit strong, steady of voice.

And that just made everything worse because it proved to them that Pansy was being clearly and bluntly ignored. Nothing angered her more than that.

Parkinson's breathing was harsh and the heat irradiating from her body was intense. She had never been so insulted in all her life. This classification was quite unusual since she had been treated worse before, but that had happened from people she knew, or people she treated just as bad and everyone expected her either simply to do it (especially when it came to bushy-haired insufferable know-it-all Gryffindors) or simply get over it (Draco was probably the only one who fit this category).

Even though, there she was and she was being ignored by a complete stranger and worse of all, right in front of Draco Malfoy. That was the kind of thing that people just couldn't survive.

'Do you have any idea of who you're talking to?'

She demanded fiercely and throatily, her hand slowly moving from her side.

'Whom'

The blonde boy blinked. The girl was insane, she couldn't be correcting Pansy's grammar. She was obviously about to explode in sudden – and still growing – hatred and the wench was bloody correcting her grammar?

She was either way out of it or she really had no idea whom she was talking to.

'What did you say?'

The voice cracked, becoming weaker and higher. That's more like Pansy, Draco couldn't help but think. He also had no option but to watch as reddish brown eyes glowed and stared at the girl by his side when a particularly annoying candle danced over the dark figure.

Another blink and those eyes were lifelessly black yet again, this time it was an instant effect and not a progressive change as it had been before. It left him unsure if that he had actually seen the transformation the first time, or if he had merely imagined it.

'No. I don't know who you are.'

At this nonchalant, and yet polite, response and the evasion of her question, the Slytherin girl literally snapped, her hand quickly – even though clumsily – reaching inside her robes.

Draco would never know why he did it. Not even later, when Parkinson demanded an explanation did he give it to her. First because she had demanded it and he didn't work that way; second because he wouldn't know what to say, even if she had submissively and sweetly begged him to say something.

The thing was that for whatever reason he couldn't quite rationalise, Draco's left hand closed over Pansy's right wrist. Piercing cold blue eyes searched his, burning the left side of his face inquiringly but he didn't look over at her.

He kept on staring openly at the girl sat in that carriage, so far off to the corner that she could be easily forgotten and whose eyes had only drifted south twice. The first time was to search for any hint of recognition over his wannabe girlfriend's figure; the second being that inexpressive stare at his and Pansy's nearly entwined hands.

'Draco...'

It was laced with indignation and a tiny tinge of hurt. As always, he ignored it.

For one dull moment he thought he had fathomed a flashing – disturbing – ray of violet that gave an appalling effect in comparison to all that deadly darkness of those strange pupils and irises. But it was fleeting and again he was left with the that hideous sense of uncertainty.

'Sit down.'

As if in cue, the whole coach jerked violently. The movement was so incredibly abrupt that the four Slytherins were sent backwards and forced to sit on opposite of the girl Pansy had almost hexed.

* * *

Silence reigned all the way to the castle.

But it was a very tense and heavy silence.

The Entrance Hall was just chaotic as the Platform had been. Everyone was running after their housemates, the kids and adolescents already forming separated groups. The torches were blazing and irradiating a welcoming warmth at all the students as they left the carriages and walked back inside Hogwarts.

Once they had stopped on solid ground, Pansy forced her way out of their carriages first, all the time huffing and cursing under her breath.

Vincent and Gregory did the same, albeit way calmer and absolutely quiet. As they got their belongings, Draco got out of the coach and went after them, maintaining a slow pace as he watched the trouble-maker finding her way out too.

When she had her head out, he saw her for the first time. Her eyes were narrowed to slits, not in annoyance or contempt, but as if she simply couldn't open them just yet. He figured her eyes were having a hard time getting used to the light after such a long time reading in the dimness.

She was blinking fiercely, as she tried to force her eyes open and he could see them watering with the effort. She looked around, letting her eyes dance over the mass of loud people before her. Malfoy frowned lightly.

Her robes were black, like his own, but they were completely black. It was Hogwarts' standard clothe, it did carry only the school's emblem on the chest. That meant that he had been right, she wasn't a student and she really didn't know who Pansy was.

'Malfoy!'

Both Crabbe and Goyle immediately stood straight at his side, moving far too swiftly than someone their sizes probably could. Forcing his eyes from the new student, he focused his tired grey gaze on Hillary Reeves. So the Mudblood had gone through her little tirade, well too bad he didn't give a damn about any of it. He doubted Snape was anywhere close to take his badge, least of all on account of a Gryffindor.

'Reeves...' he drawled lazily.

'I don't think I saw you helping the others with the first-years.'

Draco never understood this particular turn of phrasing. Was he supposed to confess his crimes, apologise on his knees and promise to never ever disappoint her again?

Well, not in this life.

'Well?' Reeves insisted.

'Well... what?'

'Malfoy...' she leaned forward slowly, trying desperately to look threatening, her right eye twitched. He almost burst out laughing. 'If I find out that you're neglecting your duties, I _will_ go to Professor Snape and you _will_ suffer the consequences.'

Draco was too busy trying desperately not to crack any of the jokes that were exploding in his head. Apparently the more he bit the inside of his cheek, the better the jokes got and the worse it was to keep his face straight.

When it was clear that she wouldn't get any answer, the Head Girl gave his one long look, absolutely unaware of the fact that her eye was twitching once more. She then turned her back on him and went back to whatever she was doing.

'Am I out of it or was she _winking_ at you?'

He couldn't hold back at that and let the laughter burst its way out of his body as he and the others found their way to the Great Hall and the start-of-term feast.

'Where the hell is Blaise?'

To say that he didn't give a rat's arse would be an understatement but for once Draco decided to keep that little anecdote to himself. All things considered, he was still in debt with Pansy, so he decided to stay silent.

After the whole carriage debacle, and his uncontrollable laughter at her question about Reeves – surely he wasn't laughing at Parkinson but in her bad mood she felt offended all the same – Malfoy decided to give himself a break of her endless whining tantrum. He had already explained to Pansy that he didn't have the patience for her mood swing and all it did was bore him terribly.

That had seemed to do the trick of shutting her up and deflating her self-righteousness but the first only lasted for 30 minutes.

In all honesty, Draco had to admit – to himself only – that Pansy was right and they both knew it. If tables were reversed, he would have hexed her if she had tried to stop him. And he was the type of guy that was very touchy when he was in a foul mood, so if it had been Pansy laughing hysterically at one of his questions (or at least if that was what he'd think she was doing), he would have probably cast a silencing charm on her. And he'd have prohibited anyone to undo it until he felt like listening to her voice again.

Thinking all of that made it easier for him to simply pretend he hadn't heard her as he, Vincent and Gregory checked out all the Slytherin girls and some others from the other Houses. It was one of the only subjects that inspired a coherent interaction from them, the other two was Quidditch and beating someone up. Not necessarily in this order.

Draco had to snigger as Vincent literally gawked at Susanne Bones when she walked pass their table on her way to Ravenclaws. Vince had been head over heels infatuated with the Hufflepuff since second-year, although Malfoy couldn't quite understand why.

Greg on the other hand had finally grew out of his stupid – not to mention bat blind – crush on Millicent. The other two suspected that it had been something born at the Yule Ball in third-year but still they couldn't quite accept it for all the time it lasted. As it happened, Draco saw the boy staring openly at Greengrass and was silently glad that at least one of them was learning something from him.

As the other two were too busy drooling at their chosen, he focused on everything out of the ordinary. It didn't take him long to zoom in several things, especially when Potter and his minions arrived.

The murmur seemed to grow, but in a complete different way than it did for the past years. People were still talking about the Golden Boy behind his back, not even bothering to hide it, but this time the note of their comments was slightly off.

Draco leaned back, squaring his shoulder and following Potter with his eyes. Yes, the Boy Who Lived knew it too, even though he was trying very hard to forge a nonchalant facade. The blonde boy grinned savagely.

Albus Dumbledore wasn't the only one who was coming out of the Triwizard Tournament debacle with his name marred. Apparently the Wizarding World wasn't that fond of its Favourite Boy anymore, not that anyone could blame them for doubting what a 15 years old had to say about the Dark Lord. The same wizard that even after 14 years of his – supposed – defeat, was only ever mentioned as Him Who Must Not Be Named.

As far as everyone was concerned, it was easy to believe that Harry Potter was an attention seeker brat and that Hogwarts' Headmaster, one of the most powerful wizards that had ever existed, was becoming senile. Even though he cheered this change of pace, it also unnerved him deeply.

Stupidity irked Malfoy.

This massive decision for general imbecility reminded him of something he read once.

"The greatest trick devil has ever pulled, is to make everyone believe he doesn't exist."

Its context had been absolutely different but he believed that in its essence, it fit completely to their current situation. Draco shrugged. It wasn't really any of his business, anyway. He most certainly wasn't about to initiate a social movement to enlighten the Wizarding World of something not even the Ministry wanted to acknowledge. He definitely wanted to stay filthy rich and in one piece, for if he ever even tempted to do something like that his father would not only disinherit him – what in itself was too cruel for words and would bring him to an instant death – Lucius would also make sure he lost at least a couple of very necessary body parts.

'Scoop, Malfoy..'

Draco was pulled out of his thoughts by Blaise's hand on his shoulder as the black boy pushed him to the side. He frowned but let go as soon as he noticed that the motion would put Zabini between him and Parkinson.

'Where have you been?'

For obvious reasons Blaise looked mildly surprised at his sudden interest. Malfoy kept his ground and his gaze unwavering. The other boy blinked twice before he shrugged indifferently.

'Around...' he said simply, his eyes scanning the Great Hall.

Draco didn't push it but he knew that Zabini was hiding something. Whatever it was, he'd find out one way or the other. The Slytherin only kept to himself what he didn't want to share, what meant that he knew that Malfoy would most certainly take it from him, given the chance.

'By Salazar! What is that?'

The blonde boy instantly followed Blaise's eyes to find the source of his indignation. Draco almost laughed. Only one thing could evoke that tone from Zabini, being beautiful as he was, the black boy had low tolerance for anything but.

That was so much true that he even admitted that the Weasley girl was pretty, and he wasn't even that drunk at the time, although he'd pluck out his own eyes with his wand before he ever got close of the blood-traitor.

It was a very distinct way of classifying and living the world, that way of Blaise. Even though he had a very strict social selection politics, just like any other well-respected pureblood (that meaning Slytherin), he had a lot of tolerance when it came to beautiful people.

It wasn't that he was vain, and he was, but it had a lot to do with his upbringing too. Zabini's mother was one of the most beautiful witches alive, especially for someone her age and so many times woefully widowed. Blaise had once told him that his mother never got tired of amusing him with the remembrance of her pregnancy. She had promised herself to kill the child, if it looked anything but perfect.

Pansy and the others laughed at the non-existent joke, but Draco knew that the boy meant his words. Blaise's mother had chosen a Zabini to be not only her second husband, but also the father of her child, only because he was stupidly rich and hands-down handsome. If Blaise hadn't followed the obvious course and inherited his parents' physique, his mother preferred him dead.

Something that unsurprisingly was extended to her husbands.

With this bedside story, it was impossible to demand that Zabini actually cared about anyone's inner beauty or personality. It was his soft spot too, even though he had little patience for imbecility, Blaise was more than capable of putting up with it in favour of a pretty face.

It had been the reason why he had invited Daphne for the Yule Ball anyway.

So Draco could understand fully why the sight of mouse-brown hair, a pallid, toadlike face and a pair of prominent, pouchy eyes – mixed with an appealingly horrible sense of fashion – would distress him so much.

'Do you know who that monster is?' Blaise insisted horrified.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, a challenging eyebrow, making the black boy's head whip back to the staff's table. He could see his housemate's brain working frantically while his amber eyes adopted a pale yellowish shade.

'Umbridge...' Zabini said after a while and looked over at Draco for confirmation. He nodded.

'What is she doing here?'

The blonde boy shrugged, his grey eyes focused on that ghastly figure. Dolores Umbridge couldn't be more hideous if she tried, poor woman. His father had told him much about her, her ways and mostly the best way to get in her good graces.

'Well, Blaise...' he drawled calmly 'We do need a DA professor, don't we?'

'But Umbridge?' the other hissed 'What the bloody hell does she know about Dark Arts to even attempt to teach us how to defend ourselves against it?'

Draco chuckled lightly and placed one elbow over the table. His chin was the propped over his closed fist, his eyes glinting with that bluish sparkle it sometimes had.

'And who told you she actually needs to know something to teach us anything?'

Blaise frowned fiercely, his eyes becoming brownish in intrigue and suspicion but before he asked Draco what he was on about, Prof. McGonagall entered the Great Hall, leading a several clearly frightened first-years.

Malfoy sneer, almost roaring at the boy he had verbally abused back at Hogsmeade. The little brunette yelped, pushing himself as far away from the Slytherin table as he could, without getting too far from his fellows first-years.

Vince and Greg sniggered, even though they had no idea of why the boy acted that way, all the time mindful not to make a lot of noise and get the Gryffindor Head's wrath over at them.

The blonde boy watched silently as the midgets positioned themselves before the staff's table, most of them looking way past pale and downright green. Draco remembered vividly when he had been the one there, staring at the Great Hall and knowing that he simply _had_ to be sorted into Slytherin.

No Malfoy had ever been sorted into any other house, well if they had, they had been immediately disowned. It was a matter of proving himself worth of his name, his family, as everything seemed to be a way to test if he deserved to be who he was.

He knew acutely well what all the other kids said about Slytherins, he knew too that most of them were trembling there, praying to go anywhere but the house of the snakes. Anything but bearing Salazar's symbol on their chest, anything but dress everyday in green-and-silver for seven years.

Draco had been different. He had stood there, wishing, hoping that whatever happened, he'd be a Slytherin. No matter what people thought of him, no matter what they said and no matter how he would be disliked in that school, he would be a snake. He would be Salazar's student.

And he had won.

He was a Slytherin.

As he amused himself with the different levels of embarrassment, anxiety and plain mortification before him, Malfoy found two known faces. Both of them logistically taller than the rest of the students, and for that same reason they stood far away from the others.

One face he knew very well. Buzz cut black hair, crystal blue eyes and deceiving dimples. Piotr seemed taller than he had looked the year before, his shoulders though looked still broad and strong. His dark complexion made him look naturally tanned, and the healthy golden glow he had on his skin told Malfoy that he had indeed gone to the Bahamas with his parents as he had said he would.

Draco frowned unconsciously. Piotr was going to be a problem. A beautiful, well-defined and throatily spoken problem, but still a problem.

Next to Antokolsky was a girl, who wasn't nearly as tall as the Russian seventh-year but was perceptively way tall for a woman. Her black hair was savagely tied at the back of her had, making impossible to know its length. She looked deadly pale next to Piotr's tanned flesh, but then again everyone did. Her eyes were black, Draco noticed with unease and she seemed to be solemnly focused on Prof. McGonagall's every move to even attempt to acknowledge anything else.

' --the damn cow I was telling you about!'

That was obviously Pansy's scandalized murmur.

But before Greengrass had the chance to say anything back, the Sorting Hat began its song. If the Great Hall had been already quiet, now the silence was deafening. No one dared to move, as they listened carefully.

_In times of old when I was new_

_And Hogwarts barely started_

_The founders of our noble school_

_Thought never to be parted:_

_United by a common goal, _

_They had the selfsame yearning,_

_To make the world's best magic school_

_And pass along their learning._

_'Together we will build and teach!'_

_The four good friends decided_

_And never did they dream that they_

_Might some day be divided,_

_For were there such friends anywhere_

_As Slytherin and Gryffindor?_

_Unless it was the second pair_

_Of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw?_

_So how could it have gone so wrong?_

_How could such friendships fail?_

_Why, I was there and so can tell_

_The whole sad, sorry tale._

_Said Slytherin, 'We'll teach just those_

_Whose ancestry is purest.'_

_Said Ravenclaw, 'We'll teach those whose_

_Intelligence is surest.'_

_Said Gryffindor, 'We'll teach all those_

_With brave deeds to their name,'_

_Said Hufflepuff, We'll teach the lot,_

_And treat them just the same.'_

_These differences caused little strife_

_When first they came to light,_

_For each of the four founders had_

_A house in which they might_

_Take only those they wanted, so,_

_For instance, Slytherin_

_Took only pure-blood wizards_

_Of great cunning, just like him,_

_And only those of sharpest mind_

_Were taught by Ravenclaw_

_While the bravest and the boldest_

_Went to daring Gryffindor._

_Good Hufflepuff, she took the rest,_

_And taught them all she knew,_

_Thus the houses and their founders_

_Retained friendships firm and true._

_So Hogwarts worked in harmony_

_For several happy years,_

_But then discord crept among us_

_Feeding on our faults and fears._

_The houses that, like pillars four,_

_Had once held up our school,_

_Now turned upon each other and,_

_Divided, sought to rule._

_And for a while it seemed the school_

_Must meet an early end,_

_What with dueling and with fighting_

_And the clash of friend on friend_

_And at last there came a morning_

_When old Slytherin departed_

_And though the fighting then died out_

_He left us quite downhearted._

_And never since the founders four_

_Were whittled down to three_

_Have the houses been united_

_As they once were meant to be._

_And now the Sorting Hat is here_

_And you all know the score:_

_I sort you into houses_

_Because that is what I'm for,_

_But this year I'll go further,_

_Listen closely to my song:_

_Though condemned I am to split you_

_Still I worry that it's wrong,_

_Though I must fulfil my duty_

_And must quarter every year_

_Still I wonder whether Sorting_

_May not bring the end I fear._

_Oh, know the perils, read the signs,_

_The warning history shows,_

_For our Hogwarts is in danger_

_From external, deadly foes_

_And we must unite inside her_

Or we'll crumble from within 

_I have told you, I have warned you ..._

_Let the Sorting now begin._

The silence persisted until the Hat quit all movement and only after a very unsure second did the applause start, and Draco had a feeling that it only was so because Dumbledore himself had started them.

Around him several students were looking intrigued and whispering conspiratorially. Although none of them stopped clapping, to say that they were taken aback would be absolutely unnecessary. Goyle and Crabbe looked over at him for an explanation. And so did several others, as if he – without so much as one single OWL – was qualified to Psyche 101 an ancient talking, singing hat. And be able to give them a report on its condition.

'Inspired this year, wasn't it?' Blaise raised an inquiring, and not totally devoid of amusement, eyebrow.

'And we thought it had merely memorized those bloody cheap rhymes hundreds of years ago...' he replied with a small grin.

The comment earned him a chuckle and a nod. It was plain to see that even though they were both showing only their amusement, their mind were reeling.

Malfoy knew that the Sorting Hat had given warnings before, whining about its duties way before the Goblins demanded any kind of legal representation at the Ministry. Apparently, every time something very unpleasant was on the works, the wannabe artist felt fit to announce its opinion.

Not that over the course of the years anyone ever deemed necessary to actually listen to it, which obviously only frustrated the bloody Hat. Lucius had told him that during the first war, the Hat had also made up a couple of dozen new verses. The same had happened, he heard, when Tom Riddle had got in Hogwarts and then when he left.

All these pieces of information he had collected with Slytherin's ghost, the Bloody Baron. He wasn't the easiest ghost to chat with, but once his dead ego was stroked enough he was able to talk pearls. It was known in the castle, by all the pictures, ghosts and house-elves that whenever the Sorting Hat deemed necessary to hand out warnings, things were about to turn foul.

The cheap old ragged piece of clothing had always got stuck on a particular key too; the union of the houses. As if there was any chance in hell that he would suddenly befriend any unworthy muggle-lover, blood traitor, mudblood or Boys Who Wouldn't Just Die, anytime soon.

That hat knew bollocks about anything, anyway.

'Slytherin!'

Draco blinked repeatedly as his whole table exploded in cheers and whistles. Even Crabbe and Goyle were punching the wooden surface to enhance the noise. Knowing that he was the one most first-years we looking at, Malfoy coached his lips into a artful, albeit cold, smile as he clapped his hands in satisfaction.

The sorting was the most boring ritual they all had to go through every year. It was clearly unpleasant for the first-years and completely tiresome for the senior students. Although the rivalry between houses always came back full force at these couple of hours, as each table tried to shut the other up as they got new blood.

_Safety in numbers_.

Or at least that was what some stupid muggle had said once.

Soon it was coming to an end, as every single nose-dripping hellion – as Pansy had so eloquently labeled them – found their way to their respective houses. The exchanged students would be the last to be sorted, as they were every year.

Ignoring Blaise's sideways glances and sniggers he watched as Prof. McGonagall called the first of the older students. Slowly and confidently, Piotr walked before the old witch and took the hat, placing it over his head.

Unlike it had happened to most younger students the hat sat rightfully over Antokolsky's head. It was in the moment the bloody Hat yelled "Slytherin" that Draco saw ocean blue eyes focusing on his. To his everlasting glory, it had been Piotr who blushed, not the other way around.

'Encourage him, why don't you?'

'Shut up, Blaise.'

The other flashed him an enchanting white smile that made Malfoy want to make him swallow every one of his teeth.

At last, the Gryffindor Head of House checked the name of the girl standing behind her. For some reason, Draco acknowledge that Snape was looking at him, instead of at the new student. When their eyes locked, his Head of House gave him one cold nod. He mirrored the movement in time to hear, Prof. McGonagall's unnecessarily loud announcement.

'Harper, Neci'

Draco heard Parkinson's huffs, Bulstrode's snigger and the other girls' giggles. Pansy didn't waste much time in demoralizing people.

The girl moved gently towards the Hat, blinking before she got hold of it and slowly put it over her head. Unlike Piotr the Hat was clearly a tad big for her, not big enough to fall onto her shoulders, but big enough to hide most of her face.

When she pulled her hand, Draco thought he had a glimpse of swirling violet eyes. As soon as he was sure of that fact, her eyelids closed and the Hat moved to cast a shadow over her face.

'I don't see why she has to be sorted...' Pansy snorted 'She's a Hufflepuff through and through...'

'How can you be so sure, Parkinson?' Blaise asked absentmindedly.

'She was stupid enough to quarrel with me, Zabini...' the girl sneered.

'The lass might have been the one who played with fire, Pansy, love...' Millicent drawled 'But you were the one who got burned, isn't that right?'

'That sounds Ravenclaw enough to me...' joined Maddoc, dying to piss Pansy off.

'She surely is gorgeous enough to be a Slytherin...'

The sharp intake of breath was long and loud, for one dull moment Draco was afraid that Parkinson would pass out because she was looking faintly bluish as she glared at Zabini. But he noticed that the Slytherin hadn't taken his eyes from the new student.

'You would think so, wouldn't you, Blaise?' Bulstrode gloated.

'I don't _think_ so, Millicent...' he stated, mildly irritated 'I _know_ so...'

At that particular comment no one dared to question Zabini any longer. To doubt his taste on physical beauty was the same as questioning his intelligence, it infuriated Blaise deeply.

Draco didn't say a thing, ignoring Pansy's attempts to catch his eyes over their housemate's shoulder. He was too immersed in concentration, trying desperately to understand why the Sorting Hat was taking so long to make up its decision. He hadn't been sure, but he had the impression that he saw the girl's lips moving, as if she was talking to the Hat.

Could it be that she was trying to convince it to put her in a particular house?

Or perhaps she was trying to change its mind?

Malfoy didn't know, and even though he was concentrating hard to try to read her lips and discern one single word, but he just couldn't make anything out. It was when she gave an imperceptible nod, and the Hat moved on top of her head again.

'Gryffindor!'

Pansy was almost hollering in insane pleasure, amusing every one on the Slytherin table. Blaise's groan was deep and meaningful, but only audible enough to Draco. The Gryffindor table had exploded in happiness once again; clapping in animalistic fervor as the new student found her way to their bench.

Malfoy watched as she sat right next to the Weasley girl, the insufferable brat leaning in to paw her all over. As the others red-and-gold pathetic idiots tried to catch her attention and befriend her, he watched her stiff back and tense demeanor.

'Damn it...'

'Oh, shut up, Zabini!' was Pansy's ear-to-ear grin of response.

Dumbledore choose that moment to get up from his seat, and with his usual welcoming and boring warmth, he smiled at every one, with his arms wide open. Half the Slytherin House growled at the prospect one more long speech.

Crabbe and Goyle were becoming restless and irritable, something that only happened when they were hungry. And if the rumbling he was hearing was any indication, Vince and Greg were about to roast one of the first-years, if the feast didn't start any time soon.

'To our newcomers,' the Headmaster bellowed pleasantly 'Welcome! To our old hands – welcome back! There is a time for speech-making, but this is not it. Tuck in!'

The agreement was unison and the food had barely appeared on the plate and around the table, Crabbe and Goyle already had their mouths full. The same happened with Pucey, Montague and – unfortunately – Bulstrode.

Even Pansy seemed to be filling her plate with inadvisable enthusiasm, most certainly inspired by the pleasure she had whenever she looked over at the Gryffindor table. Draco lazily poured a couple of roasted potatoes on his plate, then opted mostly for vegetables and a generous piece of the cheese pie. He nodded while he chewed a piece of bread, taking that gentle act as a barked order, Vince immediately filled a goblet with pumpkin juice and placed it in front of the blonde boy.

Blaise, he noticed, was absentmindedly picking at the sausage and rice he had put on his plate, sipping at his goblet with thoughtful leisure.

'Do you think she's a pureblood?'

Draco's fork stopped in mid-air, he heard a distinguished choking sound and he could see that neither Crabbe nor Goyle were stopping to breath as they stuffed themselves silly.

'Does it matter?'

The noise was sharp when Blaise let both his knife and fork fall on his plate. He turned around so violently to stare at Pansy that Malfoy was sure he heard his neck cracking. His eyes were almost brown, though they didn't loose their golden sparkle.

'What kind of bloody question is that, Parkinson?'

Everyone in their group fell suddenly silent, waiting for the outcome of that inevitable battle. No one understood why the tension between them was blooming, least of all over of a new student – a Gryffindor at that – but it was obvious that that was only the beginning.

'Zabini, Zabini...' the girl rolled her eyes 'You know what I mean.. I don't know why this sudden interest, she's one of them now... Just another red-and-gold freak... Don't tell me you _fancy_ her...'

Draco noticed that Pansy's voice was low and soft, patient and condescending, but the grimace on her face indicated that she believed Blaise to be infected with the plague. The black boy smirked and shrugged nonchalantly, looking over his new obsession once again.

'If she's pure, I most certainly won't hold a stupid Hat's mistake against her...' he countered calmly '_Harper_... Does it ring any bell to you?'

Malfoy blinked and followed his roommate's eyes before he shook his head. That earned Zabini a laugh from Pansy.

'Oh, my...' she gushed 'Hitting rock bottom, aren't we, Blaise-honey? She's probably one more Mudblood and here you are gagging for her...'

That was cheap shot, way down bellow the belt, even for Pansy. Not to mention that it was highly dangerous to do this kind of accusation to someone like Zabini, the boy was probably even more fiercely adept of the whole muggle abhorrence ideology than Draco himself.

That was why the blonde boy straightened and closed his hand over his wand, preparing himself to threaten both of them if necessary. It wouldn't be good to embarrass Prof. Snape and get House points taken in the first couple of hours back at school.

But to his immense relief and surprise, Blaise merely grinned at the Slythering girl, placing both his elbows on the table at each side of his plate. Everyone raised a curious eyebrow at that, and Draco couldn't help but do the same.

'I doubt she's a Mudblood...' he raised his shoulders in contempt 'In fact I'm almost sure she isn't... A half-blood, unfortunately it might be correct... But a Mudblood? Very doubtful...'

The firmness in his voice effectively shut Parkinson up. Draco was now watching the boy at his side carefully. He clearly had thought a good deal about what he was talking about, and he also sounded very sure of what he was saying. It was the tone of voice Blaise had when he knew something no one else knew. Something Malfoy would kill to know.

'How can you be so sure?'

It was an obvious question but he knew that Pansy wouldn't be able to control herself.

The boy took a deep bored breath, his hand moving to his fork, as he reassumed his picking at the food. His other hands was playing with his goblet, Blaise enjoyed attention and he knew he had it unconditionally in that moment.

'You haven't noticed yet, have you Parkinson?'

Pansy growled in annoyance and impatience. Draco knew how much she loathed Zabini's habit of procrastinating, the girl was very direct and objective herself. She didn't have any willingness to take anyone's mind games.

'Noticed what?'

'Harper...' Blaise nodded in the girl's direction 'She's the Elementari...'

At this, even Vincent and Gregory stalled their frantic motion of shoving obscene amounts of food down their throats in record time, without choking once. As one, everyone around them looked over at Harper's back. Draco was caught in his stare by the Weasley girl, but one heartfelt sneer made her look away.

Although he knew that the ginger-head had quickly warned the new-comer of the snakes suddenly interest on her back. The older girl didn't even bother to look back at them, and somehow that angered Malfoy deeply.

'What?' as usual Parkinson's squeal ensnared his attention.

'You shared a carriage with her for almost one hour and you didn't sense anything?' Zabini asked in mocking disbelief 'What's your problem, Pansy? Are you magically retarded?'

Draco was afraid for the second time that night that the girl would explode with fury. At the carriage he hadn't seen it, but under the candle's light that bathed the Great Hall, he could watch as Parkinson paled and blushed repeatedly. It looked as if her blood stream couldn't decide which flow was the most appropriate for the occasion. It wouldn't take her much longer to attempt to reach for her wand, what would be suicide for there was no way Pansy could ever beat Blaise.

He wasn't only stronger than her, and knew far more curses, hexes and jinxes, he was naturally more competent at it. And infinitely faster. All thanks to his second step-father, who had had the peculiar habit of teaching Zabini how to improve his magic talents at the mere age of 5. His tactic had been casting all kinds of possible spells on the child, claiming that that was the best way for the boy to know what to use in a duel. Blaise hated the man's guts, he passed away mysteriously a couple of weeks after Zabini's mother found out about this activity, but he did have an extraordinary knowledge in the subject because of the old bastard.

One of the reasons why he effortlessly always received high compliments during Charms classes.

'You say she was stupid to quarrel with you...' he continued slowly 'But taking in consideration the amount of power she has and the fact that she doesn't even have to pull out her wand to do permanent damage on you... I'd say you were lucky your _dear boyfriend_ saved your scrawny little arse...'

Malfoy knew that he should have retaliated Blaise's choice of words to refer to him, still he was aware that that wasn't the most important matter at hand.

Obviously, why hadn't he realised it sooner?

Something had stalled him from joining in Pansy's tirade at the new girl, without apparent reason he also had prevented the Slytherin girl from attacking. In retrospective Draco rationalised how weird it was that even when it was clear that Parkinson would reach for her wand, the girl didn't move, nor did she dive her hands in her robes after her own wand.

She had merely sat there, looking at his and Pansy's entwined hands. She had looked faintly curious, but not worried at all.

The only possible explanation for this behaviour was that he had sensed, even if subconsciously, her magic core. It made a lot of sense, for at the time his mind was busy with other matters. As he sat there, with Zabini's face looking flushed with triumph and Pansy's getting crimson with fury, Draco closed his eyes and leaned back slightly.

He tuned out any noise, any unimportant thing that could captured his attention and diverge him. He concentrated deeply, diving in his subconscious, searching for his own magic core. It didn't take him as long as it used to, his father had left him locked in his room exercising that many times in his childhood.

Lucius claimed that he had to understand his own power, his own magic and everything that involved it and revolved around it. According to the older Malfoy that was the only way his son would ever be able to make his own abilities evolve, not to mention that that way he could even develop other threads of power.

Draco had managed to find his magic core, but he never could actually understand it or manipulate it as his father had told him to. Still, taking in consideration that most wizards and witches his age barely knew that they had a magic core, he was satisfied with his own limited capacities.

Even in pureblood families, the concept that it's not the magic that makes the wizard, but the wizard that makes the magic, was taken lightly.

It was sad really, how most people had no sense of ancient knowledge.

As soon as he got a glimpse of that silver and dark green thread, Malfoy let his consciousness dive into it. The sensation it awoke was that known peacefulness and security. He loved that feeling but knew that it wasn't the right time or place to let himself go for it, so he focused on his surroundings again.

This time he didn't hear voices or any other noise, he felt vibrations, as if he was in the middle of the ocean and waves after waves passed through him.

The bigger the waves, the stronger they were. They also didn't have the same colour. The most noticeable waves came from somewhere far on his left, a white and blue wave, followed by a dark brown and amber, and lastly a sinister and completely black one. He knew those cores, they belonged to Prof. Dumbledore, McGonagall and Snape respectively.

As he moved his senses around the Great Hall, he felt the teasing of a very annoying and clearly unfashionable red and golden wave. It was reinforced by other tinny waves in the same shade, although one was distinctively redder and the other obviously more golden. Draco had the feeling he had seen a flash of black and a tinge of green, but it had been fleeting and he didn't pay it much attention.

Those were most definitely the Golden Trio's magic threads.

At last, the blonde boy found what he was looking. Coming in steady and controlled flow, almost touching his own wave, was a silver and violet threat. He couldn't be sure if it was really deep purple or black, for it seemed to be one and then the other and even the two at the same time. But that didn't matter, he knew that magic core could only belong to one person.

He opened his eyes, in time to see that the girl he had been unconsciously turned to had her eyes closed too. After a few seconds she pried them open, a small frown on her face. As soon as her eyelids were flung open, purple suspicious depths stared deep into his dark grey pools.

Then, the black began to take over those irises completely and she looked away.

For the first time it wasn't Pansy who pulled him forcefully from his own thoughts. But the tiring pleasant voice of Hogwarts' Headmaster. He didn't mind the old man, too occupied with the recent events.

If she could sense his magic core, and the way he had used it to find hers, than she most certainly wasn't the idiot Gryffindor Pansy believed her to be. He didn't know how Blaise could be so sure that she was the Elemantari, being incapable of reaching his own core, but what he had said was right.

Anyone with any magic sensibility, and enough motivation to put it in action, would have already noticed the girl's potential. Even if they didn't quite notice it consciously, they would unconsciously as he had at the carriage.

For one dull moment, Draco realised that even Crabbe and Goyle had possibly noticed the ancient magic crackling earlier. After all, it wasn't like them to simply stand there without so much as a grunt or not jumping at the opportunity to present a physical challenge at anyone, be them man or woman.

This only made him feel all the more disheartened at how specifically dense Parkinson actually was. The sudden gloom was shoved to the back of his mind when Blaise placed a hard, painful jab at his side. He glared heatedly but the black boy only tilted his head at the staff table, with an odd yellow glint in his eyes.

Draco looked up and found Snape who was scowling deeply. No surprise there, but only that every single member of the staff seemed to be doing the same. Including the easy-going Prof. Grubbly-Plank, who was naturally replacing the Giant Beast Dumbledore insisted on calling their Care of Magic Creatures' teacher.

No, something was definitely not right at that table. The Headmaster was quiet, looking down, obviously surprised and most certainly interrupted. No one had ever interrupted Albus Dumbledore, let alone at Hogwarts. Still, Dolores Umbridge was quite clearly doing exactly that.

'Thank you, Headmaster' she clipped as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening 'For those kind words of welcome.'

It didn't take Draco most than three seconds to decide that he disliked that voice of her as he had rarely hated anyone else's voice before. And that was a big statement since he knew Pansy Parkinson since he was 4 years old.

'Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say!' he also was reminded of why he was vehemently in favor of banning all ugly people to Askaban at birth 'And to see such happy little faces looking up at me!'

Malfoy used to be a very difficult child. He was almost impossible to please, and he also had always had the habit of being bluntly sincere about things. But there was nothing he used to loathe more than to be talked to as if he was mentally challenged. He loathed it when he was 3, he was absolutely irked by at the age of 15.

And if Millicent's frown and Zabini's narrowed eyes were any indication, he had a feeling he wasn't the only one.

'The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance. The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction. The ancient skills unique to the wizarding community must be passed down the generations lest we lose them to ever. The treasure trove of magical knowledge amassed by our ancestors must be guarded, replenished and polished by those who have been called to the noble profession of teaching.'

Umbridge turned to acknowledge the other professors and Draco couldn't help but search for Snape. The older man remained impassive, his black onyx eyes absorbing every single nuance of Dolores' speech, voice and body language.

Malfoy coached himself to do the same. It wasn't really hard on him, his father was a politician. At least, he was one at heart. He had learned to say demagogy before he could even spell his own name. He could read the real meaning of the new professor's words, even though she was successfully boring most of the students to death.

At a particular point in that excruciatingly long speech Greg had both arms over the table, his forehead over the back of his hand and a snore coming from his massive figure. To keep himself awake, Vincent was kicking Gregory under the table every time his snore began a crescendo.

Eventually the torture ended, and most students only noticed it because Dumbledore led the first round of applause. Still, the clapping wasn't very firm and let on the fact that almost no one had actually paid attention on anything that was said.

'Was I the only one dying slowly here?'

The round of sniggers that followed Adrian Pucey's mockery didn't affect Draco or Blaise. The black Slytherin leaned over to his housemate discreetly.

'Progress for progress's sake must be _discouraged_, for our tried and tested traditions often require no _tinkering..._? A balance, then, between old and new, between permanence and change, between tradition and innovation...?'

Malfoy grinned humorlessly.

'That was your favorite part?' he asked jovially 'Mine was: A new era of openness, effectiveness and accountability, intent on preserving what _ought to be preserved_, perfecting what _needs to be perfected_, and _pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited_.'

Zabini nodded slowly and thoughtfully.

'We'll have brilliant DA lessons this year...' he commented darkly.

'We sure will...' Draco agreed grimly.

Before they could say anything else to each other, the whole table was getting up noisily around them. Pansy appeared at Malfoy's left side, her arm boldly wrapped in his. He always forgot how swift she could be whenever she wanted.

'Come on, Draco... We have to lead the first-years...' she chimed.

Without a word he pulled his arm back and increased his pace. He didn't bother to see if she was following him. When he got the door he whistled with his middle finger and forefinger in his mouth, getting the attention of almost everyone still at the Great Hall.

He waved impatiently at all the boys and girls who were being snarled out of their seats by Pansy, rolling his eyes at Granger as she chastened Weasel for name-calling the nose-picking hairballs. When all of the little things were forming an Indian line before him, Draco sent Weasel a winning smile.

'Let's go _MIDGETS_!' he called victoriously and began his descent to the dungeons.


End file.
